


Of Darker Emotions

by WanderingWorldWarrior



Series: Of Different Emotions [2]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Action, Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Angst, Asgard, Blood, Blood and Gore, Blow Jobs, Canon Divergence - Thor (2011), Dark Humor, Dirty Talk, Emotional Hurt, Erotica, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Family Drama, Fluff, Hair-pulling, King Loki, Loki Does What He Wants, Loki Feels, Loki Has Issues, Loki Needs a Hug, Loki is a dick, Long-Distance Relationship, Low Key Sif/Thor, Masturbation, Midgard, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Odin's Bad Parenting, POV Second Person, Part Two, Pining, Power Couple, Reader Has Issues, Reader Has Powers, Reader Is Badass, Reader-Insert, Romantic Tension, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Sex, Smut, Some Fluff, Thor Is Not Stupid, Thor doesn't know how to human, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, World Travel, brotrip with Thor, fem reader - Freeform, jane/thor kind of, just a little gullible, kind of, little bit of choking, loki/you - Freeform, send help
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-10-20 09:27:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 38
Words: 108,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10659711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WanderingWorldWarrior/pseuds/WanderingWorldWarrior
Summary: Here for the smut? (Or want to avoid it?) Chapters 2, 15, 21, and 36 are NSFW.It has been six months since the final fight against your enemies. Still, you are restless. A part of this is why you swore fealty to Odin Allfather, king of Asgard.The other part is his younger son.Tensions are quickly mounting. Thor Odinson's temper sees him banished, and by unlucky chance, you are accidentally afforded this fate as well. But even on Midgard, something hunts the god of thunder. With Thor stripped of his powers, his father falling into a deep slumber, and his brother ascending to the throne in his absence, it is up to you to keep the prince alive.Loki Odinson just wants you home.Dark thoughts are blooming in his mind, and dark thoughts are often hard to resist.When old grievances give rise to powerful enemies, will Asgard remain a strong and steady force?Or will the grand kingdom finally fall?Part Two of the series: Of Different EmotionsFind me on Tumblrhere!Consider joining myDiscord!





	1. A Throne

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ShootingStarSojourner](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShootingStarSojourner/gifts), [Absurdum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Absurdum/gifts), [lovetoread2much](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovetoread2much/gifts), [GoddessOfShitpost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoddessOfShitpost/gifts), [jeminguay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeminguay/gifts).
  * Translation into Deutsch available: [Über dunkle Emotionen](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14254722) by [temerey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/temerey/pseuds/temerey)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! It's me! :)
> 
> So, the slow burn is over you guys. I'm excited for this part in the series, I really am. I want to say right off the bat that my updates will NOT be as quick with this part, for those of you that were reading while I posted "Of Softer Emotions". I already had Part I completed, and edited and updated every day. Part II isn't complete yet. I'm staying at least three-four chapters ahead of what I post for Part II, so there probably won't be updates every single day like last time.
> 
> This is just so I can check for plot holes and be sure I know where I'm going before I update. :)
> 
> I also made a Tumblr! Find me [here](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/wanderingworldwarrior)!
> 
> So, without further ado, let's get into this!

The realm of Asgard is a warring state. Most soldiers know battle in at least their teens, always ready to be called upon when needed. Fewer, but not uncommon, are the female warriors such as the Lady Sif, who make for a deadly sight on the battlefield.

 

There are two new faces among Asgard’s forces. Foreigners, they call you and your friend. Some do not understand why you bother with Asgardian battles at all.

 

But where Odin Allfather dispatches you, you go. And where you go, your friend follows.

 

You are no stranger to war. There's something in you that craves it, as it always has. Battle is natural. A part of this is why you swore fealty to the Allfather, king of Asgard.

 

The other part is his younger son.

 

Prince Loki fights beside you, snarling angrily as he casts illusions that confuse the westerners. His dagger curves easily through the air, striking unaware opponents who face his duplicated copies.

 

You dart past the prince, slashing an enemy soldier, feeling your sword cut through bone. You note an illusion of yourself speeding by, causing another warrior to swipe at it without thinking.

 

When it disappears, Loki strikes from behind, one of his knives vanishing into the man’s side. He watches as the soldier falls, then turns to find you beside him once more.

 

The sight of the two of you walking through the battle together, confidence practically manifesting physically in the air around you, is enough to strike fear and uncertainty in your foes.

 

Thor Odinson, god of thunder, holds the mighty hammer Mjolnir to the heavens. Lightning strikes, the bolts arcing between enemy soldiers that had surrounded him and his companions. He grins and lets out a loud shout, swinging his war hammer to bash in the head of an oncoming fighter.

 

Victories have always come easy to the prince.

 

The captain Obasi spots the Warriors Three fighting beside the young god, assisting him as much as they can. The loyalty between the four is strong. They love and respect Thor as much as any, and it makes them a dangerous unit. He is glad to have them on his side.

 

There is a flash of light, and your little friend, Willow, stops a blow from two soldiers at once. The Asgardian army has grown used to these bright displays. In fact, they favor them; her light shields them at times when they most need it.

 

Willow takes out warriors in a different way. Her size makes it easy to slip into their guard, disabling them using pressure points and armor weaknesses. She wields a staff that is almost as tall as she is, which works well to disarm her opponents.

 

As Thor’s thunder rolls across the bloody battlefield, you launch yourself into the air over a group of enemies and land among their midst. Once in their center, you set your surroundings aflame.

 

You relish their screams.

 

So does the younger prince.

 

He's done battle by your side everywhere his father has sent you. Loki’s sorcerers are instrumental in Asgardian victories, and he finds a lovely satisfaction in this fact; Odin cannot argue his presence at these fights.

 

The western kingdom had guessed Asgard to be weakened from their battle with the barbarians six months ago.

 

They were gravely mistaken.

 

It is Thor that strikes the blow that breaks them. He hurls Mjolnir at his enemies, the hammer carving a path, and the prince shouts for Obasi’s troops to flood through their foes’ ranks.

 

“Retreat!”

 

The call is heard from the western captain, and soldiers echo it as they turn and flee. The Asgardians are hard on their tail, taking out as many warriors as their weapons can reach.

 

The triumphant cheering around you is loud. You habitually flick your blade, dark blood spattering the ground at your feet. Your eyes search the faces near you until you find the two you seek.

 

There's Willow, who has remained faithfully by your side since she came to Asgard. Her shoulder is bleeding, but even as you watch, a familiar soft glow helps to knit the wound as she walks to you.

 

You find that you don't have to search long for the prince. He strolls up, looking pleased. “I must say, that was quite easy. Almost too simple, really.”

 

“What, battles where you don't die are boring now?” you ask, rolling your eyes.

 

“He's always bored,” Willow reminds you.

 

“Are you injured?” Loki questions, a smirk playing on his lips. “I can hardly tell. You've once again led a _messy_ massacre, murderess.”

 

“War and blood are a package deal,” you reply, shrugging. “I'm fine.”

 

“Right,” Will states disbelievingly, holding her hand up to the wound in your side you had been trying to conceal.

 

“It's nothing,” you retort, but you can't help but sigh in relief when the pain disappears.

 

Loki frowns. He knows it's irrational to be irritated by the action, but he cannot help it. He should've been the one to notice, the one to heal you.

 

The prince doesn't dislike your little friend – on the contrary, he's grown to find her amusing; her presence makes things _interesting_. He likes interesting. He likes seeing his father squirm on the throne, distrust clear in his gaze.

 

Your friend did not swear loyalty to him as you had.

 

“Brother!” Thor calls, stepping up to your small group with a broad grin across his face. “Obasi is set to return. Let us report to Father.

 

“If we must,” Loki quips, the sun glinting on his golden war helm.

 

“Ladies,” Thor says to you and your friend, smiling and inclining his head before he walks back to his comrades.

 

\---

 

Odin paces. He's waiting for word of this battle’s victory or loss. Much hinges upon it, in regards to testing his oldest son. Frigga Allmother watches from her chair, noting the heavy weariness in her husband’s face.

 

“Rest your feet, my king, or you're sure to wear a hole in our fine rug.”

 

“Still no word,” Odin replies, turning to his wife and trying his best to do as she says. “I should've been there.”

 

“You are exhausted, Odin,” Frigga states, rising and taking his hands in hers. “You have been putting off the Sleep for too long. Trust in your son. You gave him command. Wait and see how he conducts himself.”

 

The plans for Thor’s coronation have been in place for months, although nothing has been made official. The Allfather wanted to ensure Thor would be able to conduct himself in all manners of kingly natures – he has attended councils, sat in on meetings with foreign dignitaries, and been entrusted with giving orders to the captain Obasi during battle.

 

“Our people need him to be a leader,” Odin replies, rubbing circles on the back of Frigga’s hands with his thumbs. “A king.”

 

“He has much of his father in him,” the queen states, smiling up at her husband. “That in itself will make him a fine king.”

 

\---

 

Thor walks up to stand before his father and then kneels, as is customary in the throne room. He is unsure of why he’s been called back after the briefing, and so he waits for the king to speak.

 

“Rise, my son,” Odin says, his voice echoing. “Obasi tells me you performed admirably in battle today.”

 

“I did my best, Father,” Thor replies, grinning. “I won't say the praise is unfounded.”

 

“Thor Odinson,” the king tells him seriously. “I must speak with you of important matters.”

 

The smile wavers on Thor’s face. “Yes, sire?”

 

Odin shifts in his golden throne, the spear Gungnir glinting in the light and giving off a powerful presence in and of itself. “We have conversed before on this matter, but now formally I ask you this: Do you think yourself capable and ready to ascend to the throne?”

 

\---

 

“You should let Sigrid know you made it back alive,” Willow tells you, settling down in her chair. She's cleaned of blood, having already traded her leathers for a dress. “You know how she worries.”

 

“Already told her,” you reply, tapping the side of your head and looking over at your friend. “From that little shop she works at, she can see when the soldiers come back from battle. So, Sig contacted me first.”

 

Will takes in the look on your face. “You miss her, huh?”

 

“Yeah, I do,” you admit, shrugging. “But I’m happy if she’s happy, you know?”

 

Willow nods, but before she can reply you feel a sudden dip in your heart, as if something is amiss. You frown, and your friend notices. “What is it?”

 

“Something’s up with the idiot,” you state in exasperation.

 

Willow grins. “You know, the more you call him names, the more I know you care for him.”

 

\---

 

“Think of it, brother!” Thor exclaims, walking back and forth before the table in Loki’s chambers.

 

“Oh, I am, Thor,” Loki replies from his couch, flipping a page in his book.

 

“Would you quit your novel for a moment, and hear me?” Thor tells him, grinning as he rips the book from the other prince’s fingers and tosses it to the tabletop.

 

“I hear you,” Loki snarls, bristling for a moment before he clears his face. “You've accepted already, I imagine.”

 

“Of course!” Thor replies, beaming. “Father will be making the announcement tonight at the victory feast. Oh, brother,” Thor says, shaking his fist jubilantly in the air as he resumes his pacing, “can you not see it? We’ve often discussed what we would do differently in our father’s place, and at last, I have true chance to make it so! Our enemies will quiver at the very _thought_ of taking on our forces!”

 

“That's all well and good, Thor,” Loki replies nonchalantly. “You will make a mighty king, truly.”

 

“And you'll be by my side, of course,” Thor comments with a toothy grin, clapping his brother on the shoulder as he passes. “My most trusted advisor! Together, we can make a difference.”

 

“Of course,” Loki states, a ghost of a smile crossing his lips, revealing none of the jealousy hidden underneath.

 

“As I see it, we have a mighty advantage,” Thor says, making another circle 'round the table. “With your brain, and my brawn and good looks.” He flashes his brother yet another smile. “I jest. Partially. And we also have our new warriors. Once word of them spreads across the realm, none shall challenge us.”

 

“It spreads already, and fights still make their way to our doors,” Loki replies. “You mean to wave power in the faces of our enemies? I worry it will ignite their rage. A target painted on our kingdom’s back.”

 

“Not a target,” Thor retorts. “A warning.”

 

“A warning,” Loki repeats, mulling the thought over.

 

But he still sees the target in his mind's eye, painted woefully bright, right across your face.

 

\---

 

Sigrid stands in the crowd, peering through the bodies to catch a glimpse of the class’s graduates.

 

The men and women pass through the courtyard, their heads held high. They've worked hard, trained hard to be where they are.

 

But none harder than Asmund.

 

Rather than pride in his eyes, something else is lit. Sigrid calls it determination, and she knows it runs deep. Half a year is an amazingly short amount of time to stay in the School of Sorcery.

 

He has worked nonstop, taking less and less time to himself as the months passed. He didn't even want to celebrate his birthday – sixteen years old, a man now. At times Sigrid can still see the carefree youth he once was. But now his laughs and smiles don't come as easy as they once did.

 

She can say the same for herself.

 

Asmund’s mother, Brenna, did not even attend the ceremony today. She keeps to her shop and her home, keeps her hands and mind busy with work. She does not want to believe what the children told her.

 

But Sigrid knows it's true. And Asmund knows it's true. He thinks this as he walks behind the others in his class.

 

He's done his absolute best to master his sorcery, and he doesn't plan to stop after graduation. There's more to seek, there's more strength to be had.

 

Asmund needs entrance into Prince Loki’s sorcerer’s guild. That's where true power lies.

 

And when he finally has this power, he can find his father.

 

He can ask Jerrik why the man betrayed not just his kingdom, but also his only son.

 

\---

 

After finding your chambers empty, Loki goes to the room next door, tries the handle, and then knocks. He waits impatiently, arms folded across his chest. Finally, your little friend opens the door, and he looks crossly down at her.

 

“Why do you have need to lock your chambers in the early evenings?” he asks curtly.

 

Willow raises an eyebrow and gives him a half-grin. “Maybe because you like to barge in unannounced.”

 

You stretch your arms up from the chair you sit in and yawn. “What's up, Loke? Why are you in such a mood?”

 

“Stop with the name,” he says, a dangerous edge in his tone. He pauses, and then lets out a sigh. “Walk with me?”

 

You snort and get to your feet. “I would, but we were about to hit the feast. I figured you'd already be there.”

 

“I'm not _going_ to the feast,” he says coldly.

 

You share a glance with your friend. “Okay. I'll walk with you.”

 

His emerald gaze softens a bit, although his jaw is still tight. “Alright.”

 

Loki gives your Willow a quick dip of his head and then leaves the room.

 

“Rain check, Will,” you say over your shoulder as you follow him.

 

“Rain check,” she repeats, nodding to you.

 

You close her door behind you and find the prince waiting impatiently in the hall. His emotions seep into your mind, and they make you uneasy. “What the hell is going on?”

 

“Let us walk,” he suggests, forcing a light tone.

 

“Okay,” you agree slowly, and you keep pace at his side.

 

You both make your way through the palace without a word. Eventually, you find that the prince’s face has shifted to an expression of apathy, but you feel bitterness and apprehension flowing from him.

 

When you reach the beautiful Asgardian grounds, twilight quickly falling, you notice his shoulders relax. Something in your heart softens at the sight, and you carefully take his hand.

 

He considers pushing you away, but instead finds his fingers interlacing with yours. Loki sighs, and stares at one of the many flowering bushes that dot the Asgardian palace grounds. “It has been a truly tiring day.”

 

“It has,” you agree quietly. You glance over at him and squeeze his hand. “Want to tell me what's up?”

 

“No, I do not,” he says assuredly, although there's less bite in his voice now. “It's of no concern.”

 

“Somehow I doubt that,” you comment.

 

He studies your face, his eyes traveling over your features. “A distraction would be welcome, however.”

 

“Oh, glad to know you see me as a distraction,” you tell him with disdain, rolling your eyes.

 

He leans down and presses his lips to yours, his hand caressing the back of your head. Eventually he pulls away, although his hand doesn't move. “You're more than a distraction.”

 

“Right. Uh,” you say, getting your breath back, “we’re in the grounds.”

 

He pulls you closer to him. “I don't care.”

 

“There's probably still people around,” you point out, although now you're grinning a little bit.

 

“I don't care.”

 

Suddenly, cheers erupt from the Asgardian feast hall, loud enough to be heard from where you stand in the gardens. Your gaze briefly flickers to the sound, and then you look back to Loki. “That have anything to do with your attitude?”

 

“If you must know,” he replies tersely, “Thor is to be crowned king of Asgard in two week’s time.”

 

Now you understand. You watch his face as he looks towards the sounds of festivity. “Can you… can you handle that?”

 

The excited whoops and screams fill the silence as you wait for his answer.

 

“I don't know,” he replies finally, his jaw tightening. “I… I don't know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tbh, telling both his sons they were fit to rule, but knowing there was only one throne was kind of a dick move on Space Dad's part.


	2. Distraction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's start Part II out with a bang, huh? ;)  
> Ha, ha, geddit?  
> You'll get it.

Rebuilding is always a slow process, but half a year has been plenty of time for Prince Halvar – now King Halvar – to make repairs to his shattered kingdom.

 

His father, Magnus, left behind a legacy that the barbarian prince finds difficult to uphold. Halvar knows his father was at fault. The previous barbarian king had aligned himself with the wrong people. And those people had killed Magnus right in front of his son. But….

 

In Halvar’s mind, the Asgardians took advantage of their weakness. If Asgard had taken out the foreigners, had not dawdled in their attack, his father may still be alive. If Asgard had seen the true threat, and come to their _aid_ , things could have been different. As prince, he had always been an advocate for peace with Asgard, much to his father’s disapproval.

 

As king, he now understands Magnus’ point of view.

 

Halvar bares his teeth, watching the festivities in the new feast hall. This is not how he imagined taking the throne. This is not what he wanted.

 

He wishes nothing but ill will towards Asgard. He cannot take out his anger on the dead organization that stole his father’s life.

 

But he has no qualms about settling for his still-living enemies, should the circumstances arise.

 

\---

 

Sif and the Warriors Three keep up with Thor, drink for drink. Those present are ecstatic, and cheers still randomly break out from time to time. Odin chuckles in his seat, selecting different tidbits from his plate.

 

The sight of his subjects celebrating, their cheerful faces all turned towards his son, makes the Allfather proud in a way he cannot explain. He knows Thor still has much to learn, but he will have guidance from those around him.

 

This fact helps to calm Odin’s fears.

 

The mug of mead doesn’t hurt, either.

 

Frigga’s keen gray eyes take note of the faces present in the feast hall tonight. She does not see Loki. It’s a mighty large hall, and she figures she may have just overlooked him, but she has a suspicion that he will not be present at all this evening.

 

The queen knows it will be hard for him, but has high hopes that he will be able to handle things with maturity and grace. She’s always believed in the both of her sons; that even at their lowest, they will have the strength to pull themselves back up.

 

 _It will depend on how long he stews upon it_ , Frigga decides. Hopefully, the younger prince will be able to successfully busy himself with other things leading up to his brother’s coronation.

 

\---

 

The Asgardian gardens are beautiful to many, although you’ve never quite understood the appeal. Loki walks with you down the paths, tugging on your hand as he leads you farther from the palace. You can tell he just wants to be rid of the noise, of the elated cheers that sound for his brother’s upcoming rule.

 

You do your best to relate, but it’s hard. It’s not in your blood, as it is the prince’s. You feel no urge to be responsible for a kingdom, to have others subject themselves to your will. But you know he’s lived his whole life in his brother’s shadow – you’ve seen a part of this history with your own eyes, after all – and you can sense the turmoil hidden behind his cool gaze.

 

At the very back of the gardens near a swathe of trees, he cloaks the two of you, the magic sitting heavy in the air as you vanish. Once this is done, his lips immediately find yours again. It’s been almost a year now that you've had the prince. You’ve shared too many kisses for you to count, and still he finds a way to steal your breath.

 

You know this coupling is just a distraction for him, and you feel like this should bother you. But it doesn’t. He’s usually rough with you, but he’s even rougher during times like these.

 

He spreads his fingers and the fastenings on your leathers magically pull free, the armor hitting the ground with a dull thud. The cool air bites at your exposed arms, and you shudder. “Are you crazy? It’s freezing out here!” you hiss.

 

“Come now, you know you won’t feel cold for long,” he teases, forgetting the cheers of the feast hall for a moment as his arousal grows.

 

You let out an irritated huff, your breath misting in the air, and then lean forward to kiss him again. He backs you up against one of the trees, and you can feel the rough bark through your undershirt.

 

He doesn't remove your shirt, but simply pulls it up with your underclothes in order to finally reach your breasts.

 

The night air is cold, but the prince’s hands are colder as they move across your body. One slides down your front as he sucks on your nipple, seeking the heat between your legs.

 

He's not disappointed. He never is. His teeth nip against your flesh as his fingers find what they're searching for. You gasp, your head pressing back against the trunk of the tree behind you.

 

“Did you, uh… did you do a silencing thing?” you ask between sharp intakes of breath, questioning what kind of magic wards the prince had set up around the two you.

 

His lips leave your chest, and his mouth hovers over yours for a moment. “No.”

 

Loki’s fingers make your breath hitch again, and you hiss, “Why not?!”

 

“Because it makes things interesting,” he replies smoothly, and then his lips meet yours before you can offer any kind of retort.

 

His ferocity is showing now, his movements disguised as passion. But you know better.

 

He undoes his pants, his hands leaving you briefly before they return to tug your bottoms down to your knees. Once more, you grit your teeth against the cold, but you can't deny that it excites you.

 

He doesn't wait. He pushes into you, his tongue gaining entrance into your mouth from your resulting gasp. The bark of the tree scrapes against your back as he starts to thrust, your hands scrabbling against his shoulders.

 

One of his hands slips around your thigh and lifts your leg a bit as you do your best to step out of your bottoms. You groan quietly, trying to keep your voice in check.

 

Your body feels amazing around him. He's always loved the sensation, has even found himself craving it if he doesn't have you for a while.

 

You hear his breath pick up, and the hand not under your thigh snakes up to your neck. There's no pressure, but he likes the sight, the illusion of control over you. Your pulse is fast beneath his chilly fingers, and he suppresses a moan.

 

He stills his hips, fully buried in you. “Legs,” he orders. When you don't immediately comply, his eyes narrow. “Legs,” he growls.

 

“Fuck, just give me a second,” you get out, irritated, your hand clenched in the front of his shirt.

 

When you wrap your legs around Loki’s waist, he pushes your back harder against the tree trunk. His hips don't move, but his hand releases your thigh and slips down to where your bodies are joined to begin to tease you.

 

He gets you writhing quickly, hearing your breath pick up beside his ear. It makes him let out a low, pleased sound. Your fingers grasp the fabric at his shoulders, your heart pounding loudly. His teeth find your ear, and his hand unconsciously tightens around your neck as his fingers move faster against your most sensitive area.

 

He feels your body convulse around him, hears the curses you hiss through your teeth. That's when he starts to snap his hips again, his pace brutal. You can't keep quiet – you squirm, you moan, you say his name.

 

You're building to your next climax again already, and he's eager for it. He likes the sensation it gives him, likes hearing his name cross your lips during your ecstasy.

 

He’s quickly rewarded, due to the fast pace he's set. It's too much for him, and with a few more pumps of his hips, he releases as well with a groan.

 

Panting fills the air in the quiet gardens, the chill of the night starting to give you goosebumps.

 

“Damn,” you moan, biting your lip as he whispers your name.

 

“Hello?”

 

At the voice, you both freeze. Loki leans back and puts a slender finger up to his lips.

 

It's one of the guards, who does his rounds once daylight fades. He peers around, searching for the source of the noises he heard, but sees nothing out of sorts.

 

The guard is irritated as it is. His on-duty evenings always seem to fall when exciting things happen in the palace. He's been able to attend a few ruckus feasts in the past months, but the one tonight sounds especially riveting.

 

He walks away through the beautiful gardens, grumbling under his breath as he goes.

 

\---

 

Your friend Willow sticks to the outskirts of the feast hall. Her curiosity drove her here. What had put your prince in such a foul mood?

 

Her question is answered quickly when another round of “Hail, future King Thor!” is shouted loudly from an intoxicated Asgardian. Cups strike against the floor as those present call for more drink.

 

“Ay, little sprite!” a voice slurs, and Will looks over to find Fandral the Dashing, no doubt returning from the lavatories.

 

“Fandral,” Willow replies, chuckling at the state he's in. “I see everyone’s doing their fair share of drinking tonight.”

 

“Indeed,” he says back, wiggling an eyebrow as he smooths his blond hair. “What say you to a drink?”

 

“Only one,” Will relents, smiling.

 

“That's the spirit!” Fandral tells her, thumping her on the back before he strolls up to his place with the Warriors Three.

 

Willow watches him go, a small grin on her lips, and then snags a full cup from one of the servers.

 

The mead tastes of honey, although there's more fire than what she normally cares for. She's heard your tales of Asgardian alcohols, and has no intent to lose her senses tonight.

 

It's a grand party. The affair is splendid, with pleasant talk and chatter filling the air. The feast hall has a warmth to it, one that Willow appreciates.

 

Yet still, a loneliness cuts through her thoughts. She is alone here; this is not her home. Her only tie to this realm is you, and even then, you are here for the prince. She's missed you, yes, but it is odd to be present so long in a realm that neither of you belong to.

 

Although the both of you truly have no place anywhere.

 

She misses her beloved, even knowing they parted on mutual terms. It's been a difficult time for her. The Asgardian battles have helped, although distractions only last for so long.

 

But at least she's near you once more. She has missed you over the years, and it's wonderful to reconnect. The two of you quickly fell back into your friendship, as if no time had passed at all.

 

Odin would wish for you and her to leave once you both have nothing left to offer him. Willow wonders if Thor, as king, would want the same. She's no idea what the future will bring. It's a lot to think about.

 

But for now, she sips on her drink.

 

\---

 

As the final two weeks pass, Thor’s nerves and Loki’s hidden wrath both grow in tandem. They each lie to themselves – the god of thunder makes himself believe he is not nervous, but excited. And Loki continues to maintain his outwardly meek attitude, although dark ideas are brewing underneath.

 

Things perhaps would've been different had Odin not thought it prudent to reassure his youngest son.

 

Loki sits alone in his chambers, his elbows resting on his knees as he thinks. His fingers are laced, his chin resting on top of his hands. He can't find it in him to open a book, which is very unlike him.

 

It's tomorrow. Just one more day.

 

There is a knock at the door. You never knock, so he figures it must be someone else. Perhaps it's his mother, or a servant come to give him a message.

 

“Come in,” he calls out, his eyes traveling to the door.

 

He is surprised to find Odin stepping into the room. Loki gets to his feet, quickly dipping into a bow. “Ah. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

 

“You may drop the formalities,” Odin tells him as he shuts the door behind him. “I'm not here as your king, but as your father.”

 

“What, then?” Loki asks, eying Odin.

 

The Allfather stands awkwardly by the door. “How are you?”

 

Loki stares at him for a long moment. “How… How am I?”

 

“Yes. Can a father not ask such a question of his son?”

 

Revulsion crawls through every inch of Loki’s mind when he hears it in Odin’s voice: pity. The younger prince does not want to have this conversation. He does not want his father’s sympathies, his condolences.

 

Such things only fuel his unrest and bitterness.

 

“I am very well, Father,” Loki replies nonchalantly. “As well as I've ever been, surely.”

 

“Loki,” Odin speaks up, but the prince shakes his head.

 

“I tell you, you worry over nothing,” he states, smiling pleasantly. He spreads his hands slightly from his sides. “I am at peace with the whole ordeal.”

 

Odin walks across the room and briefly puts a hand on his youngest son’s shoulder. “Good. Good, that's… yes, that's very well.”

 

“It is indeed,” Loki says, nodding.

 

Odin lets his hand fall to his side, and then sighs deeply. “My son, you know I love you. This is not a slight to you, and I wish for you to understand that.”

 

“Oh, I understand,” Loki replies cordially, keeping the bite from his voice.

 

“I’d hope so.” Odin stares at his son seriously. “We both know of Thor’s impulsive ways. He’ll need you by his side. I'm sure he's said as much.”

 

“Surprisingly, he has,” Loki notes.

 

“Excellent,” his father tells him with a nod of his head. “You are both men grown, and I'm pleased to see an absence of childish behavior between you two. It is an honor to have the _both_ of you as my sons.”

 

“Likewise to you, Father,” Loki answers.

 

Odin surveys the prince, trying to find the truth within his green eyes. It's hard to discern, as it always has been. The king clears his throat. “I'll let you be. We’ll need your help tomorrow, to complete the preparations. If you're able.”

 

_They're to have me help **set up the coronation**?_

 

“Certainly,” he makes himself answer. “Thank you for the opportunity to be of assistance.”

 

“Of course,” Odin replies, nodding his head and making his way to the prince’s door.

 

“Well, I'm glad we had this chat,” Loki says, fire in his veins although his voice is calm.

 

“As am I,” Odin answers, mustache twitching as he smiles. “I bid you a good evening.”

 

“Always a pleasure,” Loki tells him, dipping his head again.

 

The Allfather leaves his son’s chambers, letting out a relieved sigh once the door closes. He pauses for a brief moment, and then starts down the hall.

 

Inside the room, Loki stands silent. His fists are clenched, and he glares at the floor with a tight jaw.

 

_Not a slight to me, the man says._

“Ridiculous,” he growls aloud, beginning to pace.

 

He thinks of Thor’s broad grin, of his bold statements. He thinks of the _pity_ in his father’s gaze.

 

He hears you asking if he can handle it.

 

Loki scowls, and his heart pounds loudly in his ears. “I can handle it,” the Prince of Lies says to himself. “I can.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Space Dad.


	3. Chance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Breaking my rule about not posting until I'm at least three chapters ahead because I'm excited to get this arc started! :]

The day of the coronation has the palace in a tizzy of chaotic excitement. Servants rush back and forth in the throne room, the kitchens, and the feast hall, assuring that everything is in its proper place.

 

The royal family stands amongst the mayhem. Queen Frigga speaks with the workers, lending her suggestions and relaying orders. Odin is positioned calmly beside her, adding a comment or two when he feels it necessary.

 

Thor’s excitement is building as he watches everything come together. It overtakes his nerves for the time being, although it's still hard for him to believe this evening will make him a _king_ rather than a prince.

 

The thought gives him pause, and his blue eyes find his brother, who stands off to the side. Thor approaches, a small smile upon his face. “You seem preoccupied, brother.”

 

Loki’s calm gaze slides to the other prince. _But not a prince for much longer,_ a snide voice in his head reminds him. “I'm always preoccupied with thoughts, Thor. Although I doubt you'd be able to comprehend something of that nature.”

 

Thor appraises Loki, hearing that more lies beneath his playful tone. “Brother… are you alright? With everything, I mean.”

 

 _Stop asking!_ Loki’s mind snarls. Why does everyone continue to pose this unanswerable question to him? You'd not brought it up again, and he'd thanked the nine for it. But he still hears the question echo in his thoughts – from you, from his mother, his father, and now the future king himself. _Are you alright?_ “You will make a mighty king, Thor. I've said as much already, or have you forgotten?”

 

Thor narrows his eyes slightly at the answer. “That was not the proposed question.”

 

“Don't worry over me on your special day,” Loki replies. “Allow me to iterate: I'm fine. I am well. I count you as a brother and friend, Thor. I won't deny that I'm envious, but never doubt my love.”

 

“As I've said, you'll be ever by my side,” Thor tells him, placing a hand on Loki’s shoulder for a moment. “Don't think I won't honor you and your wishes. We work together. Always. Titles make no difference.”

 

And Loki hears it again. _Pity._ Thor thinks his words will reassure the prince, but the tone only ignites Loki’s silent rage to burn even hotter. He regrets the sentiment he expressed earlier.

 

Finding that Loki cannot answer, Thor continues to speak, a lopsided grin sliding on to his face. “Although, I must admit, it'll be absolute hilarity when you, little brother, must refer to me as your sovereign.”

 

This is when he breaks. Even as Thor tells him it's nothing but a jest, even as Loki’s mouth opens and he laughs along with his brother, his fists clench at the imagined image of him kneeling before _Thor_.

 

And he does something rather stupid.

 

There is a chance his brother could make a grand king. And there is also a chance that Thor will run Asgard ragged with war, leaving nothing but broken sorrow and blood during his reign.

 

 _Likewise,_ Loki thinks darkly as his magic slowly crafts a hidden entrance inside the grand building, _there is a chance someone or something will find a way into the palace this evening. And there is a chance that they will not._

He sways on his feet, the sudden depletion of energy and magic almost enough to make him lose consciousness. He considers the expenditure worth it.

_We’ll leave it to the fates, dear brother._

\---

 

“We’re just going to be in the crowd,” you tell Willow, shrugging as you strap on your other bracer. “Sif wears her leathers practically all the time, and so can we.”

 

“Alright, alright,” Will relents. “I won't change.”

 

And during her sentence, you feel it. Your eyes narrow, and your back stiffens.

 

_What did you do?_

At first, there is no reply, and you think he's going to ignore you. However, after a few heartbeats, words ghost through your mind, twisting through your thoughts in his smooth voice. _Nothing of concern, darling._

But this leaves you even more unsettled.

 

“Are you okay?” your friend asks.

 

You blink, and then turn to her. “Yeah. It's fine.”

 

You know you won't be able to see the prince before the coronation. You're not good at comforting others, although he told you yesterday, a whisper in the dark, that he's found solace in your presence beside him.

 

He always loses his edge in the late hours of the night. You both have this in common.

 

But there's nothing to be done today, besides share in his silent unrest.

 

Willow watches your face, your countenance barely betraying your worry. But she's quite adept at reading your expression, and knows the prince’s feelings trouble you.

 

When you first wrote her of your established emotional link with Loki, Will had offered to dissolve it if she was to ever come to Asgard.

 

She has not brought the offer up again since arriving. It is left unsaid that you secretly do not mind this connection.

 

But you'll be damned if you’ll ever admit it.

 

\---

 

Thor paces in front of his companions in the royal dining hall. His nerves have successfully made their way from his stomach to his limbs, although he has no idea why he feels this way.

 

“Anxious, brother?” Loki questions from where he sits, his chair balanced on two legs as he leans back.

 

“Have you ever known me to be nervous?” Thor retorts in a light tone, although he is not as smooth a liar as the younger prince.

 

“Your helmet, Thor,” the Lady Sif states, extending the eagle-winged helm to the future king.

 

“I thank you, Sif,” Thor tells her, smiling as he accepts the gleaming silver headpiece and puts it on.

 

“Nice feathers,” Loki comments, a wry grin twisting his lips.

 

“And where are your horns, then, devil?” Thor answers, matching his brother’s tone.

 

Fandral sniggers quietly at the comment, and Volstagg pops a grape from a platter on the table into his mouth, red beard twitching as he chews.

 

Loki shrugs, calling forth his golden helm with his magic as he does so. After his earlier spell work, the teleportation of the object is even trickier. Still, he shows no outward sign of strain, and when the weight of the helmet settles upon his head, he grins. “There now. I'm as ready for the evening as you are.”

 

Thor straightens the front of his ceremonial outfit, assuring everything is in place. He looks upon his brother and his friends, who all watch him expectantly. “How do I look?”

 

“Like a king,” Loki states, and even the usually silent Hogun voices his agreement.

 

Thor’s chest swells as he hears support from those he holds most dear. His nerves truly vanish now, banished by his thrill of excitement for the future.

 

“We’re to go soon, I believe,” Sif speaks up, nodding her head towards the Warriors Three.

 

“Oh, mighty almost-king, we shall await you at the end of the aisle!” Fandral exclaims, bowing low and winking up at Thor.

 

“You sound as if we’re set to marry him,” Volstagg says with a deep chuckle.

 

They all miss the slight pink tinge to the Lady Sif’s cheeks at the statement. “Come now, friends. Let’s be off,” she tells them.

 

They bid the brothers farewell, and make their way to the throne room. Once the doors to the hall have closed, Loki sighs and rises from his seat, the chair legs hitting the floor with a loud _bang_. “We’d best move on towards the throne as well, brother. We’re to meet Mother by the doors.”

 

“Go on ahead,” Thor insists, a hint of a smile on his face. “I require a moment alone.”

 

Loki shrugs. “As you wish.”

 

\---

 

They sense it. The Winter _calls_ to them like it hasn't in centuries. Upon his icy throne, the Jotun king, Laufey, shouts summons for three of his best soldiers.

 

His red eyes appraise them as they stand at attention before their king. He waits a moment, quelling his unrest, before speaking.

 

“It calls,” Laufey growls, his voice a dark rumble in his throat. “You feel this call as well, I know. I say to you now: answer it. Return to me with knowledge. If a passage to Asgard has truly been opened, I shall fetch the Casket myself.”

 

“At once, my king,” the middle Jotun states.

 

The wind howls loudly outside the frozen walls of the Jotunheim palace. Laufey holds up a hand before his warriors can turn from him. They immediately cease their movements, awaiting further instruction.

 

“If there is opportunity, seize it.” His red glare is full of repressed wrath, which bubbles to the surface at the thought of _Asgard_ , of _Odin Allfather_. “Return Winter to our people.”

 

\---

 

Guests flood the throne room. Foreign dignitaries from across Yggdrasil as well as Asgardian nobles are guided to their rightful places by helpful servants. Odin sits at the front of the room, shielded from view by a wall of armored guards. You see plenty of familiar faces in the crowd, and even catch sight of the newlywed Lady Freydis with her husband, Brandt.

 

Willow sticks close to your side, the both of you looking apprehensively around the large mass of people. Crowds make you nervous.

 

It is understood without mention that the two of you are to stay near the back of the room. You doubt either you or Willow will be able to see any of the ongoings of the ceremony – everyone is so damn _tall_.

 

At the sounding of the ceremonial horns, the crowd’s chatter immediately dies down to hushed whispers. You can see the throne room doors, as you're near the back of the crowd, and you witness two guards pulling them open.

 

In strides the Warriors Three, the Lady Sif trailing behind them. The crowd politely cheers and claps, although they save their true excitement for the god of thunder. The group is lost from your sight as they near the front of the room, standing to the side of Odin’s grand, golden throne.

 

Next to walk in are Queen Frigga and Loki, who receive praise from the crowd, although there is murmured confusion about the fact that Thor does not come in beside them.

 

The trickster god keeps his eyes affixed upon the front of the room. It seems the fates have decided in favor of his brother.

 

Nothing stirs deep within the palace.

 

If that is the case, he will make himself content with the situation (as he's been telling everyone he already is). Pushing the coronation back would've been a simple way to buy time. He doubts his brother can be talked out of his war cravings (for Thor is not _truly_ ignorant, as Loki loves to pretend), but during his advisory meetings, there may be hope yet.

 

He knows you're present in the crowd, but cannot find your face through the sea of taller individuals. The task is even more futile when he takes his place at the head of the room, and his mother walks to the throne to be by her husband’s side.

 

The guards part as she does this, revealing Odin Allfather to the room. His ceremonial armor shines in the light, the blue of his eye scrutinizing Thor’s companions and brother.

 

Where is the prince?

 

He directs his gaze to his youngest. Loki’s shoulders rise and fall as an answer to the question, and Odin turns his glare upon the throne room doors.

 

Whispers have successfully begun to hiss from mouth to mouth. You can hear many statements from where you stand.

 

“ _Does he relinquish his claim to the throne, you think?_ ”

 

“ _Perhaps he's fled from the responsibility._ ”

 

“ _I never imagined Thor Odinson to be an individual of cowardice._ ”

 

“Where do you think he is?” Willow muses from your side.

 

The question is an echoed sentiment of Volstagg to Loki at the front of the room. “Where is he?”

 

“He said he required a moment alone,” Loki replies quietly, definitely intrigued by the turn of events.

 

However, his small shred of hope is dashed when they hear the Lady Sif sigh.

 

“What is it?” Volstagg questions.

 

“He's going to make an entrance,” Sif answers, blowing a lock of hair from her face as she rolls her eyes.

 

 _Of course_ , Loki thinks to himself.

 

“Well, he'd better hurry up,” Fandral murmurs, eyes darting to the Allfather. “Odin is like to cast him out and feed him to Huginn and Muninn at this rate.”

 

The ravens in question sit perched upon the top of the large throne, Odin glowering in his seat below them.

 

“He’ll forgive him,” Loki comments idly. “He always does.”

 

Before anyone can say more, the doors to the grand room burst open. Cheers and screams immediately break out as the mighty Thor strolls into the room.

 

This is the part he adores. He loves his people, and they assuredly _love_ him. Their shouts and exclamations fill Thor with confidence like no other – why had he ever been nervous to be king? He can lead his people anywhere, and they will gladly follow.

 

He raises Mjolnir high into the air, a broad smile on his face that makes his cheeks hurt. The crowd roars at the sight of the hammer, and Thor happily plays into the excitement. A chant of his name rises in volume, much as it had two weeks ago in the feast hall after the announcement. The prince relishes in the sound, using Mjolnir to conduct them as he walks past.

 

“Oh, please,” Sif groans, shaking her head.

 

“It's his day,” Volstagg says, nudging her and chuckling. “Let him have his show.”

 

When Thor finally arrives before the throne, he kneels to Odin and Frigga. He catches his mother’s disapproving gray eyes, and gives her a wink. The edges of her lips turn up, although she does her best to stop a true smile from appearing.

 

Odin is not smiling. He thumps Gungnir upon the marble floor a single time, and those present fall silent immediately. He waits a second more before speaking.

 

“As king of Asgard, I have defended the lives of the innocent from across the Nine Realms. It is no easy task, and not one I pass on lightly. Thor Odinson, my heir and firstborn, think carefully upon my words.

 

“I have sacrificed much to achieve peace for our kingdom. So, too, must the new king sacrifice to uphold this peace. This requires duty, humility, honor, and responsibility. These virtues are to be upheld by any man, woman, or child, from the lowliest commoner… to the reigning king.

 

“Upon this evening, I entrust to you the sacred throne of Asgard. So first, I ask you this once more: Do you find yourself capable and ready to ascend to the throne?”

 

“I am,” Thor states, his voice booming around the hall.

 

Odin cannot help but smile at the conviction he hears. “Thor Odinson, do you swear to guard the Nine Realms, to uphold the safety of the innocent, and reign with truth and honor?”

 

“I swear,” Thor replies.

 

“Do you swear to preserve the peace and bring prosperity to this kingdom to the best of your ability?”

 

“I swear,” Thor answers, light dancing in his eyes.

 

“Do you swear to cast aside all selfish reasoning and ambition, so that you may truly pledge yourself to your people and your realms?”

 

“I swear,” the prince states with certainty.

 

“Then on this day,” Odin thunders, his voice ringing with authority, “I, Odin Allfather, relinquish the throne and proclaim….” The words die in his throat.

 

All eyes in the room shoot to their king. Odin can feel something sinister creeping through his palace, can sense guards dying below in the underground Vault.

 

Enemies have breeched their walls, their wards. But how?! He grips Gungnir, which glows briefly in response to his terrible rage. He feels a chill in the air, one that raises gooseflesh on his arms.

 

“Frost giants,” he growls aloud, and the room erupts into panic.


	4. Tongues of Silver, Intentions of Gold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're having a few Thor and Loki centered chapters coming, but have no fear. Reader is gonna' have her time, too.
> 
> Let's get to it, friends! Time to join the war party.

You swiftly make your way through the crowd, Willow following quickly in your wake. You sprint up the aisle, ignoring the mass of people heading in the other direction. It takes a bit to reach the front, and by the time you get there, the Allfather, his sons, and Thor’s friends have vanished. You spot Sif rushing through a side door, and quickly dart after her.

 

Down and down the stairs spiral, echoes of footsteps floating back to you from those on ahead. Willow is still hot on your heels, and you can also hear the thundering shouts of guards from farther behind you.

 

Eventually, after winding corridors and chilly hallways, you see Sif disappear through an open door. You have a feeling that as foreigners, you and your friend should not be here, but you ignore it as you summon your sword and slip into the room.

 

Guards lay dead, their frozen eyes staring up at the stony ceiling. They had managed to take down one of the Jotun soldiers, his body studded with spears.

 

The other two were felled by the hammer of Thor, who had arrived first and set upon the intruders. The Casket of Ancient Winters lies on the floor near the dead Jotnar, a slight blue glow emanating from it.

 

Thor bends to take hold of it and return it to its rightful place, but Odin calls out quickly. “Hold, Thor!”

 

Thor does as he is ordered, and the king stretches a hand out towards the relic. It rises, hovering in the air, and returns to its proper pedestal, the Allfather expending a lot of energy to ensure this is done. He wants none to touch it.

 

It is freezing in the chamber, ice spreading from where the Jotnar lie, and you shudder involuntarily. Your guard is still up, as you're unsure of whether all enemies are truly vanquished. Palace guards flood into the chamber behind you, setting about securing the immediate area.

 

“What brought the Jotnar here?” Fandral asks quietly, eyes wide as he stares around the Vault.

 

The Allfather is tired. His chest is heavy, his spear tip pointed towards the floor. He is already going over everything that must be done; the chamber must be searched, the wards tested and secured, the palace scoured for more enemies or openings. Odin turns his eye to his dead guards, a grateful sort of sorrow filling him.

 

They had done their duty, and had fallen as a result.

 

“Jotunheim must pay for what they've done!” Thor hisses behind clenched teeth, glaring at the dead.

 

“They shall, but not yet,” Odin states wearily. “We must seek out how they gained entrance to our kingdom to stop further invasions.”

 

“Once more, you would wait?!” Thor asks, enraged. “Is this not an act of war, Father? This is our _Vault_ , an inner sanctum of our palace! We should return the intrusion in kind!”

 

“I have a treaty of peace with Jotunheim,” Odin counters. “I will speak with Laufey, to see if these soldiers were rogue or if they were indeed sent with purpose.”

 

“He will lie!” Thor shouts, clenching his fist tightly around Mjolnir. “The Frost Giants hold only malice in their dark hearts! We _must_ act before it is too late!”

 

“Calm yourself, Thor!” Odin commands, his eye narrowing. He pauses a moment and then turns to everyone else present in the room. “Leave us.”

 

The command is unmistakable, but you aren't looking at the king. You’re staring at the younger prince, whose green eyes flicker to yours for but a moment.

 

And you think you know. But you can't be sure.

 

He can feel the unworded question in your mind, and chooses not to acknowledge it. He can talk with you later. He has other matters to deal with, currently. Very _intriguing_ matters.

 

There's a tug on your arm, and you realize the others have already left, save for you and Willow. Your friend lightly pulls on you again, and you finally follow her out and back up the many stairs, listening to the reverberant echoes of the others on ahead.

 

In the chamber, Odin looks over at his son. “And what action would you take against Jotunheim, Thor?”

 

“We should march into their kingdom as you did in the past! Showcase the power we wield, the power of our armies. They would never _dare_ to cross our borders again. They wouldn’t have tried in the first place if they truly feared us!” Thor states heatedly.

 

“These proposed actions are nothing more than the thoughts of a warrior!” Odin retorts.

 

“As is appropriate during a war!” Thor shouts angrily.

 

“Look around, boy!” Odin orders, gesturing widely to the Vault. “I see no armies here! This was but a skirmish! There are no Jotnar scrabbling at our walls, no Frost Giants storming our lands. It is best to deal with our internal matters before we travel to their realm and seek answers for what these three have done!”

 

“As King of Asgard, I would –”

 

“But you’re not king!” Odin states dangerously, cutting off his son’s words. “Not yet.”

 

Thor’s face is twisted in a snarl of rage, one very unbefitting of someone normally so jovial. He turns away, ceremonial red cloak whirling behind him. The door to the Vault bounces back off the wall from the force with which the prince wrenches it open. Loki follows without a word, his footsteps seemingly silent in comparison to his brother’s.

 

\---

 

You trail behind the others as you walk. None present are sure of where to go, so you all climb until you reach the main floor of the palace. Sif and the Warriors Three waver uncertainly near the stairs, wanting to wait for Thor.

 

They quickly find they do not have to linger for long.

 

The prince storms up the steps, static crackling audibly as he moves. None try to speak with him as he passes, although his friends exchange nervous glances before following him. Loki emerges from the passage a few moments after, and you fall into step beside him as he walks. Will shadows you, noting the heavy silence in the air.

 

Things are more tense than she’s felt in a very long time.

 

Thor is too angry to think about where he’s going, and his feet lead him to the place they were all to adjourn after his coronation. The royal banquet hall is empty, tables barren of food save for the one at the head of the room.

 

You step into the feast hall just in time to see the god of thunder upend this table, dishes clattering to the ground as fruits and meats and wine cascade over the floor.

 

“Come now,” Sif mutters disapprovingly, sighing and shaking her head.

 

“A waste, a waste,” Volstagg laments, staring at the scattered platters and rolling cups.

 

Hogun nudges the man with his shoulder. “Now’s not the time, Volstagg.”

 

Thor finds no comfort in being near his friends, and walks to the edge of the room to stand alone and fume. Loki shifts his gaze to you and your Willow. “Perhaps you’d best return to your chambers. No one will be of pleasant company this evening.”

 

“You’re kidding, right?” you ask, giving him a look.

 

He scowls at you, and Willow says, “We’re sticking around in case there’s reason. Just like the others.”

 

 _Stubborn fools,_ Loki thinks, noting the defiance in your eyes. Without a word, he turns and crosses the room to his fellow prince.

 

“It is unwise to be in my company, brother,” Thor states coldly. “This evening has gone awry in a most unceremonious way.”

 

“Just because you were not crowned on this day does not mean you won’t be crowned at all, Thor,” Loki consoles him. “Your time will come.”

 

Thor does not reply, keeping his face turned from his brother. Loki’s gaze shifts briefly to where you stand, talking with Sif and Fandral. He must do this correctly, so that you and your friend will remain in the palace.

 

Asgard is not ready for his brother’s ignorant ruling. This must be proved to Odin, and Loki knows exactly how to go about it. “If it’s any consolation, brother, I stand behind you once more. I highly doubt a rogue party of Frost Giants just _happened_ to band together and make an attempt such as the one this evening. Logically speaking, I would suspect Laufey is behind it. Who’s to say he won’t try again, and with an army, no less?”

 

“Exactly!” Thor exclaims, blue eyes alight with an angry fire as he turns to Loki Silvertongue. “Yes, that’s precisely my point! We need to take _action_!”

 

“We can’t,” Loki reminds him. “Not without defying Father.”

 

Thor hesitates, staring over towards the upturned table at the head of the room. He thinks upon the battle six months ago, when he set out to the barbarian lands a second time without true permission. Odin had backed him up, then, setting out to war himself. The circumstances, though not the same, are similar enough for Thor to decide his father will forgive him again. Decision made, he looks up at his brother with a fervent gleam in his eye.

 

Loki immediately feigns concern. “Now, Thor, remember the admonishment you received after your last rebellious act.”

 

“And yet when I rode to war the next day, Father said nothing of it,” Thor answers, turning to face the others in the room. “And like that time, this is also to ensure the safety of our borders.”

 

“This is madness! Surely you can see that!” Loki insists.

 

“What is madness?” Volstagg questions, attention turning to the words of the princes.

 

Loki hesitates a moment. “Nothing. Thor made a mad jest, of which I called him on.”

 

“The wellbeing of Asgard is no jest, brother,” Thor answers, the angry light still in his eyes. He directs his words to Sif and the Warriors Three. “We’re going to Jotunheim.”

 

“What?!” Fandral exclaims, his jaw dropping.

 

“That _is_ madness,” Volstagg comments, nodding to Loki.

 

“Thor!” Sif states, shaking her head and holding up her hands. “Yet _another_ time you would risk the Allfather’s wrath? Are you dim?”

 

“If the Frost Giants don't kill you, Odin’s like to do it for them upon your return,” Volstagg tells him.

 

Loki listens to them bicker, pleased with the outcome. This is usual for Thor’s little group, when his desires to break the rules rise: they squabble, but in the end, the five will go together as they always do.

 

It is your sentence that breaks through his pleasant mood. “I mean, I don't know about you guys, but I'm down to go fuck up some Frost Giants.”

 

“You would go with me? Truly?” Thor asks, eyebrows rising. You had been so quiet as of late, he’d quite forgotten you and your friend were present.

 

Will looks up at you as well. She states your name. “Listen… Odin isn't sending you. I don't think it would be very wise to pick a fight with these people. It's not our battle.”

 

“She's right,” Loki pipes up, and you lock eyes with him. “It's _not_ your battle.”

 

“It matters not,” Thor says, shrugging. “My friends, please trust me now. For the good of Asgard… for the good of the realm, we must do this. You rode with me to war not half a year ago. Who stands with me now?”

 

The Warriors Three and Sif exchange glances, but realize there is no dissuading the man.

 

“I do,” Sif states.

 

“And I,” Volstagg and Fandral echo.

 

“And I,” Hogun agrees, stepping up beside his friends. “We fight together, as always.”

 

“And you?” Thor asks, turning to his brother.

 

Loki’s eyebrows go up, betraying legitimate surprise. “Come again?”

 

“Well, you are coming with me, are you not?” Thor questions, grinning at the other prince.

 

“Yes, of course,” Loki answers after a moment’s pause, mentally making small adjustments to his plan.

 

Thor smiles, and turns to you. You can't help but smirk. “Yeah, I'm coming too.” You look over at your friend. “You can stay if you want, Will.”

 

 **_What_ ** _are you doing?_

The thought is loud and angry in your mind, and you ignore him.

 

“ _Someone_ has to watch your back,” Willow tells you, rolling her eyes. “I'm already a dwarf here. Might as well go see some real giants.”

 

“Excellent, excellent, excellent!” Thor exclaims. “We shall make a proud statement, to be sure! Come, we leave at once!”

 

Loki hides his scowl, making sure he is the last to exit the room. This next part of his plan remains the same, at least, and is now more important than before.

 

He needs to speak with a guard.

 

\---

 

The golden dome that houses the Bifrost glints in the distance as your group approaches from the rainbow bridge.

 

“We must have passage from Heimdall,” Thor states as he walks, the bright path humming beneath his feet with every step.

 

“He hears all and sees even more,” Volstagg says worriedly. “It won't be an easy task.”

 

“He did not see nor hear the Frost Giants today,” Fandral comments. “Perhaps he's losing his touch.”

 

You're nervous as you near the Watcher. You can sense a grand and ancient power emanating from him. Heimdall, even from a distance, is an intimidating man. He stands before the observatory, a large broadsword in his hands, with glittering, golden eyes that light upon your group as you approach.

 

 _Go back, if you're so nervous,_ Loki insists, and you're slightly surprised to feel worry woven into his words.

 

_I'll be fine._

“Leave it to me,” the prince says to Thor aloud. “I shall gain us passage.”

 

Without waiting for a reply, Loki approaches the Seer. He shares in your uncomfortableness around Heimdall, although he'd _never_ admit such a thing.

 

The Prince of Lies opens his mouth, but the Watcher’s deep voice cuts him off. “It seems you sport the wrong garb, for where you intend to go.”

 

Loki’s eyebrows involuntarily rise. “I'm sorry?”

 

“Asgardian winters are cold. If you find the chill in the air here unwelcoming, you should know that it pales in comparison to the frozen vastness of Jotunheim.”

 

“You must be mistaken,” Loki says smoothly. “We’re not –”

 

“Silence, Prince,” Heimdall interjects. “Lies do not become you.”

 

Clearly offended, Loki draws himself up to retort, but Thor steps forward. “Heimdall. I beseech you to allow us passage.”

 

The stoic man is silent for a long while. You start to think he's never going to reply, and that this little voyage was all for naught.

 

But then he speaks. “I have kept watch over the Nine Realms and the worlds beyond for ages. It is most unusual for something to be warded from my eyes. Especially within Asgard itself. I wish to know how this occurred.”

 

Was Loki mistaken, or had the Seer’s bright eyes flickered towards him briefly?

 

“I shall ask it for you, Heimdall,” Thor promises. “Let us pass, and tell no one until we’ve made our safe return.”

 

Once more, silence falls over the rainbow bridge. You watch Heimdall carefully, knowing you don't have the strength to transport so many people through the shadows. He is the only way your group can reach the realm of the Frost Giants.

 

Thor notes the small dip of the Watcher’s golden helm, and grins as he steps forward to pass. His comrades trail behind him immediately.

 

“Perhaps your tongue holds no silver after all, Loki,” Fandral teases, clapping a hand on the prince’s shoulder as he walks by.

 

You go to follow Will, who is slightly ahead of you, only to feel a hand catch yours. Loki has not moved, and you look over your shoulder.

 

“Stay. Please,” he requests of you softly, his emerald gaze holding your eyes.

 

You squeeze his hand. “You're going. So I'm going.”

 

It's his own statement, given back to him from your lips. He'd said the words before following you into the first battle Odin had chosen to send you to.

 

_Oh, you beautiful fool._

He does not let you hear the thought. You pull from his grip and head into the observatory with the others. Heimdall steps up to the center apparatus, activating it with his sword once everyone has found space upon the platform. The bridge outside hums loudly, growing even brighter with each passing second.

 

As the power of the Bifrost builds, you feel as if it's suffocating you. It is wrong for you to be here. It’s as if the power pulls at your back, wishing to send you hurtling out into space. Chills rise on your arms, and you're worried you will choke from the tightness that closes in on your windpipe.

 

“Hear me, sons of Odin,” the Watcher states, his voice rumbling in his chest. “I am sworn to protect this realm, and will uphold my duty. Should it prove dangerous to Asgard to have you return, you shall receive no answer when you call upon me.”

 

“We understand,” Thor replies.

 

At his answer Heimdall twists the sword, and the Bifrost triggers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Cinema Sins Voice* Thor is a dick to doors.


	5. Giants and Beasts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder that you are in the company of badasses (you included; you're good at killing stuff and things).
> 
> Sorry this one is kind of long!

You’re almost positive that you’re dying. All air is sucked from your lungs, your body’s muscles aching as if someone or something is pulling them from your very bones. You’d scream, but your throat is tight, and you feel like a heavy hand is cutting off your breath.

 

And then suddenly, you are free.

 

You feel yourself falling, and then you forcibly hit ground covered in snow. Your body rolls a couple of times from the impact until you finally lay still.

 

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” you groan, slowly lifting your head.

 

A short distance away, you hear Loki call your name. You get to your knees and do your best to brush the white powder from your clothing. He approaches quickly, and immediately helps you to your feet. “Are you alright?” he asks, keeping a steady hand on your shoulder.

 

“I’m okay,” you say, shaking your head to clear it. “Don’t think the Bifrost agrees with me. Where’s Will?”

 

“Over there,” Loki states, inclining his head to the rest of the group. The Asgardians do not look any worse for wear from the world travel. “We’d best return, quickly. Jotunheim is no place to be caught alone.”

 

He’s very correct in this statement. The cold of the realm leeches into your skin and makes you shiver. Heimdall hadn’t been lying: this was nothing like winter on Asgard. You peer around at the vast wasteland around you. You can see where the Bifrost had left the others – atop a cliff, facing the distant palace of Jotunheim.

 

Upon reaching the group, you realize Willow had also had a difficult time with the landing. Thor pulls her up from the edge of the icy cliff where the others had been set down. She immediately hugs her arms to her body, her fingers numb from where she had held on to the snowy cliff edge.

 

“You good?” you ask her, and she nods.

 

“We shouldn’t be here,” Hogun states quietly, narrowing his eyes in the wind.

 

“Come now, it’s much too late for that,” Thor admonishes, flexing his hands and curling them into fists.

 

“In all actuality, we could call for the Watcher right now and be back home almost at once,” Fandral suggests hopefully.

 

Thor shoots him a look, and then steps forwards towards the dark ruins of the Jotun city.

 

“Perhaps it would be wiser to survey the enemy from a distance first, Thor,” Loki says to the prince’s back.

 

Thor waves a hand in dismissal, but does not stop. “Do whatever you want, brother. I know all I need to know.”

 

Sif sighs, and shakes her head once more before stepping forward to follow him. You all fall in behind them, everyone keeping a wary eye out for Jotnar. You realize their buildings were once crafted of ice and jade, although almost every structure is now nothing more than crumbling ruins. The area is completely abandoned, which sets your nerves on edge in a different way.

 

“Where are they?” Sif asks quietly, seemingly sharing in your misgivings.

 

“They hide like cowards,” Thor states confidently.

 

At his words, you notice movement in the shadows of the dilapidated buildings. There are living beings in the plaza after all. You summon a small dagger as a precaution, glancing over your shoulder as the group walks. You don’t wish to be caught in an ambush, or surrounded without you knowing it.

 

“Those who come only to speak do not bear such weapons,” a voice rumbles from up ahead.

 

Standing before the outskirts of the dark palace is a Jotun guard, his bright red eyes surveying the group of warriors in front of him. You take in the giant before you, surprised by the ferocity you see. The species looks much more intimidating alive and on their feet, rather than dead on the floor of Odin’s Vault.

 

“What is your business here, Asgardians?” another Jotun calls from the side, stepping out of the shadows.

 

“They come from the woodwork like rats,” Fandral comments quietly, causing Hogun to shoot him a warning look.

 

“I wish to speak with your king, Laufey,” Thor proclaims loudly, his fingers twitching as they long to reach for Mjolnir.

 

“Then speak, little god, for I hear you.”

 

You tell yourself the chills that run down your spine are attributed to the cold, and not the dark, sinister voice that comes from the figure that appears in the palace balcony above.

 

Your group cranes their necks to look upwards upon the face of Laufey, king of the Jotun. You can see the markings in his blue skin, the red gleam of his narrowed eyes. You can almost feel the fear that the Jotun King brings about in your group, and although you feel it too, all you can think is, _I’ve fought bigger._

“I am Thor –” the prince begins, but Laufey cuts him off.

 

“We know who you are, son of Odin. I’m more interested in things I am not already aware of. Such as why a band of Asgardians have made their way to my realm,” the king replies in a most condescending tone.

 

“I demand answers for why your people did the same,” Thor states vehemently.

 

Laufey leans forward over the balcony, which makes Fandral take a step back and look around worriedly at the Frost Giants who continue to surround the group. The Jotun King laughs, which is not a pleasant nor humorous sound. “You _demand_? From me, a king?”

 

Thor ignores his statement, and looks upon the Jotun with defiance. “How did your people get into Asgard?”

 

Laufey considers the group. He feels magic present, magic identical to what created the passageway to the Asgardian palace, to the Casket. It is wrapped around the prince’s brother himself, which makes the Jotun laugh again. “I will humor you, prince, with an answer….” He surveys the group below him, and grins maliciously. “The house of Odin is full of traitors.”

 

“Liar!” Thor bellows, rage causing his fists to clench.

 

There is a pit in Loki’s stomach.

 

_Traitor._

Traitor is never a term he truly attributed to his actions, although he realizes he fits the definition. He always knew Odin’s men could handle any intruders. He never had any doubt (albeit, the guards’ deaths were unfortunate). He didn’t want the kingdom to fall – he had been trying to save it, uphold the peace, as Thor had “sworn” he would do himself! He had been trying to spare the kingdom of watching his warmonger brother break his kingly oaths.

 

Traitor does not sit well with him, but he cannot deny the fact.

 

“Asgardians are murderers and thieves, and at the head of them is your father, boy,” Laufey says coldly. “You see the ruins of my kingdom with your own eyes. While you feast in beautiful halls and walk lavish grounds, we are reduced to nothing but rubble and waste. We have every right to attempt to repair our broken lands. We have every right to return to the _glory_ that our realm once was.”

 

“He means the Casket,” Sif murmurs, almost to herself.

 

“Not when that ‘right’ means you would wage wars against other realms with the relic’s power,” Thor tells him boldly.

 

The Jotun king laughs again, his subjects replicating the sound. You realize there are many more Frost Giants present now than there were, and you’re starting to feel as if they’re closing in. You’re wedged in the group between Willow and Loki as the Asgardians close rank.

 

“Why have you come here, son of Odin? To receive answers, or to enact war? I see what lies in your heart, Thor. You cannot deceive me. You are nothing more than a battle-hungry boy, trying to prove yourself a man.”

 

The group sees Thor’s temper rising once more, and he bares his teeth and steps forward. “I grow tired of your twisted words, Laufey.”

 

The Jotnar quickly come between their palace and the Asgardians, the giants forming a physical barrier that cannot be crossed lest blood is spilled. Loki leaves your side and hurriedly places a hand on Thor’s shoulder to stop his movement. “Thor, pause a moment and use your head. We are outnumbered. There’s no more answers to be sought here. Let us return.”

 

“Know your place, brother,” Thor snarls, jerking his shoulder from Loki’s touch.

 

And Loki sees a glimpse of what it would truly be like to be advisor to the god of thunder.

 

“Adhere to your brother’s council, Odinson,” Laufey says, dark voice coming deep from his throat. “Your ignorance will lead you to regretful actions. I give you an offer you should not refuse: leave my presence, while I still allow it, and all shall remain peaceful.”

 

Thor inhales sharply, and everyone present knows he’s about to say something that will mean war. Loki nudges his side sharply, and speaks in a rush. “We will, of course, accept your most gracious offer.”

 

Thor turns to his brother, shocked, and sees that his companions all look to him with identical pleading eyes. None wish to die in Jotunheim today.

 

The cold is making you shiver uncontrollably from standing still for so long, and you’re losing feeling in your toes. You almost don’t care whether there’s a fight or not anymore, as long as the company can start moving again.

 

The older prince locks gazes with the Jotun King, and then forces himself to turn. The action leaves a bad taste in his mouth, and a heavy feeling in his chest. Laughter follows his footsteps, which causes his hands to clench yet again.

 

And then there is a call, from one of the Jotun guards, that Thor just cannot stand for. “Run back home, little princess, lest your father find out what you’ve done.”

 

Thor’s feet come to an abrupt halt, a fierce smile appearing on his face. You don’t have to ask the meaning of it. No one does.

 

“Damn,” Loki swears, and prays to the fates that the Asgardian guards he tipped off will reach them in time.

 

In a single movement, Thor grabs his hammer from his belt, spins around to face the Jotun guard, and swings. The guard flies across the open area and bashes into one of the ruined buildings.

 

“Next?!” Thor roars as the Warriors Three, Sif, and Loki draw their weapons.

 

You trade your dagger for a sword, darkness forming your blade of choice. It is time for the battle Thor promised.

 

The Jotnar use their own power to manipulate ice, forming clear armor that covers their blue skin. The sight makes you grin; after all, fire easily melts ice, does it not?

 

Will is also at an advantage here. As your opposite and complement, where you are dark, she is light. And where you are fire….

 

As the warriors set to battle, they find that as their blades near the ice of the Jotnar, the crafted armor liquefies and allows their weapons to bite skin. Willow stands towards the middle of the plaza, focusing on rendering the Frost Giants defenseless. But despite her powers, the Jotnar draw strength from their frozen realm, and they work quickly to reform their swords and armor.

 

However, this hindrance helps make up for the Asgardians being outnumbered. The Frost Giants are ruthless in their attacks, and work hard to cut off any way of retreat. You deal with the ones sneaking towards the flank, crafting large fires and slicing off limbs as needed.

 

The Jotnar are huge. You quickly lose sight of your other companions among tall enemies. You cut through their flesh as easily as you would any other foe, although their long reach and brute strength could pose a problem for you.

 

Your speed is once again your saving grace. Their mass makes them slower, and you dash around a Jotun and cut a deep gash in his side as you do. The giant grips the wound, attempting to keep his insides from spilling out. You set another aflame as you run, and his pained shouts make the other Jotnar around him scatter.

 

Over all of the noise, you hear Thor’s laughter. “Come on! At least make it a challenge for me!”

 

Loki hisses in anger at Thor’s goading words. _This is the future of Asgard, with Thor at its head._ He focuses again on his illusions as his dagger finds the blue skin of an unwary foe.

 

It is Volstagg who cries out loudly, for all to hear. “Don’t let them touch you!”

 

You spot him facing off against a Jotun, who he had been grappling with. The man’s forearm is black where the monster had gripped him. The necrotized flesh does not look like a wound you wish to bear, and you keep this in mind as you fight.

 

Fandral the Dashing counters an attack, hoping to get into the Jotun’s guard. The Frost Giant is distracted when Hogun’s mace comes down towards his thigh, and he’s barely able to deflect Fandral’s blade. The sword pings against the icy ground as it skitters away from its owner, who quickly slides beneath the giant to reclaim it. Hogun has already turned to bash at another monster, his expression grim at the sight of the numbers they are up against.

 

Loki throws his knives, glowing with magic, which imbed themselves in the flesh of a Frost Giant. The monster shouts out, but does not go down until the Lady Sif stabs her sword into his belly. She twists the weapon, causing the giant to howl in agony.

 

Loki nods to her before turning away, knowing she has this area of the skirmish under control. Before he can find a new target, a pillar of ice shoots up from the ground, threatening to careen into his chest. Just as it’s about to make contact, the dangerously sharp spike falls to the ground as nothing but liquid. Your Willow is still very much at work.

 

Thor laughs as he fights, thoroughly enjoying himself. He’s quite forgotten about his companions as he hurls Mjolnir at foe after foe, calling the hammer back to his hand so that he may claim more lives with every turn.

 

Loki’s almost made his way to him when a Frost Giant steps into his path. The prince quickly brings his dagger around to stab the monster in the chest. The Jotun catches his arm at the last moment, much to Loki’s surprise. The cold from the creature’s strong grip laces frost up his armor, although he feels no bite from the chill. But it is his hand that gives both him and the monster pause.

 

From beneath his bracer spreads an unmistakable blue hue, a stark contrast to his alabaster skin. The color rapidly encompasses more and more of his hand as he watches, the battle momentarily forgotten as his eyes widen. When he looks up, the Jotun is staring straight at him, red gaze openly curious.

 

Loki comes to his senses and buries a knife in the giant’s side with his free hand. As the Frost Giant falls, as he releases the prince’s arm, the blue tint slowly begins to fade. Loki swallows, and proceeds on his way.

 

He’ll ponder over that one later.

 

A cry from one of your companions is what stops your killing spree. You dodge an attack and look over towards the noise to see Fandral…. The man is pale, gasping as his hands fumble over an icy spike that had shot from the ground and impaled his shoulder. The Frost Giant that caused this predicament grins as he prepares to kill the Asgardian.

 

“Fandral!” you call, setting another Jotun ablaze as you head forward.

 

Loki is the closest. He adjusts his path, illusions of himself scattering in different directions as he makes his way towards the fallen warrior. Just as the Jotun blade is about to render Fandral headless, one of Loki’s knives strikes the Frost Giant in the chest, buried to the hilt and glowing with magic.

 

You leap across a body to assist, knowing more of the monsters will flock to the area at the sight of a wounded Asgardian. “Will!” you call out, aware that Fandral will need healing. You scowl when a group of three Jotnar block your path, and ready yourself to fight.

 

“A second!” Willow requests, darting around a Jotun as she holds her hand out.

 

The icy spikes become nothing but liquid, and Fandral sinks to the ground with a soft whimper. He can tell that one of his lungs has been punctured, and his breathing is labored. The pain almost blinds him. Volstagg reaches him finally, and helps the man to his feet as Prince Loki continues warding off the surrounding Jotnar.

 

Thor is beyond reason, his ears ringing with the sound of Mjolnir bashing against ice. He is unaware that his warriors are separated or wounded, focusing only on his battle at hand.

 

“Thor!” the Lady Sif calls as she slashes the throat of one Jotun while blocking a stab from another.

 

He does not hear.

 

Volstagg assists Fandral as they head for the back of the battle, nearer to where you fight. From the balcony, Laufey can see Thor’s puny forces have made quite a dent in his army. It will take more than he thought to bring the god of thunder down. He does not intend to let any of you leave with your lives, not anymore.

 

He calls the beast.

 

A massive monster, of claws and teeth and spikes, stirs beneath the ground of Jotunheim. The ice near the ruined city begins to crack, sending tremors throughout the area.

 

“Ah, this won’t bode well,” Loki says to Volstagg and Fandral, who both look around apprehensively.

 

Your eyes search for Willow, Sif, and Hogun, and you see the three doing fierce battle on the other side of the plaza. You can’t get to them quite yet.

 

“Something’s moving down there, guys!” you shout to the other half of your team, and Loki looks down at the shadow shifting beneath the ice.

 

He turns towards where his brother remains in battle, and shouts loudly, “Thor, we must go!”

 

Thor does not miss a beat. “Then go!” he bellows back, still beating down Frost Giants with every breath.

 

“There are too many!” Sif screeches at him from the other side of the plaza, her anger bubbling through in her words.

 

Another round of Jotnar flood into the plaza, sensing the panic of the group. “I can stop them!” Thor insists. He lifts Mjolnir to the sky, calling to the lightning once more.

 

The bodies of the Jotnar sizzle around him when the strike occurs.

 

“Thor!” Sif pleads, but she receives no reply.

 

“Run!” Volstagg shouts to her, pulling Fandral along with him.

 

Loki and you both turn in surprise, watching Volstagg try to usher a limping Fandral to move faster. “They don’t stand a chance,” Loki comments dryly, shaking his head after the pair.

 

“Then help them!” you say, readying your sword and taking a step towards the god of thunder.

 

Loki catches the back of your chest piece, a long finger hooking through the leather strap as he throws a knife at a Jotun with his other hand. “Don’t go near him. It’s not safe. We’re done here.”

 

You turn to him to angrily retort when another large bolt of lightning strikes the ground, the resulting thunder overriding your words. Your mouth presses into a thin line, and then you say, “Then let’s keep those two alive.”

 

You both quickly catch up to Fandral and Volstagg, who are having a difficult time fending off the Jotnar as they flee. You spot Willow, Hogun, and Sif heading your way as well, Will wincing every time Thor’s lightning flashes in the plaza behind them.

 

The Jotnar chase after your group, driven mad at the sight of their enemies fleeing. They shout war cries, their deep laughs driving shivers down your spine. The idea of running disgusts you. But you’d traded the safety of others for bloodlust before, and you refuse to do something so stupid again.

 

Because if you stay behind, so will the two people you care about most. And you can’t have that.

 

Not again.

 

Loki snarls and flexes his fingers, casting a magical haze around the group so that the Jotnar might lose them. Will rushes to Fandral and Volstagg, trying to heal the injured man as everyone continues onward. You’ve used a lot of energy, and can’t help but pant as you run, your breath misting with every heavy exhale. Still, you force yourself to pause, heating the air until a wall of fire rises before you. The Jotnar recoil, pausing in their chase as they face the flames.

 

You hurriedly catch back up to the group, your heart pounding in your ears. It won’t last long, but it’s better than nothing.

 

And then the beast rises.

 

You have no words to truly describe the Frost Beast as it clambers up from the underground. Its teeth are long and sharp, its claws glinting as it gouges deep furrows in the ice. Tusks extend from either side of its jaw, its skin gray and scaly. The creature’s back is ridged in spines, ending in a tail with wicked spikes protruding from it. The monstrous being roars loudly, its tiny eyes spotting your group. It ducks its large head and begins to barrel towards you on all fours.

 

“Holy shit,” you say, eyebrows rising. “Now, _that’s_ a monster.... But…”

 

You glance over at Will, who gives you a nod and a grim smile. “We’ve fought bigger.”

 

You both turn to face the beast.

 

“You’re as mad as my brother if you think you’re taking that thing on,” Loki states bluntly, shaking his head.

 

“Let’s leave it and get out of here,” Volstagg agrees. “Hurry, or it’ll be upon us!”

 

There is a whistling sound in the air, and you look over, fearing the worst. However, to everyone’s relief, it is Thor. He lands beside the group, staring at the Frost Beast and the Jotnar that sprint behind it. “Let’s go.”

 

“Finally,” Fandral wheezes under his breath.

 

The decision made, you cast a last longing glance at the mighty beast, and then turn from it. Everyone sprints to gain distance from the enemies, knowing Heimdall will not open the Bifrost with Frost Giants and monsters on your tail.

 

“Heimdall!” Thor calls out to the sky as he runs.

 

The sound of the pounding feet of the Frost Beast grows louder and louder as it closes in. “It’s too close,” you shout to Thor. “I got it!”

 

You turn on your heel, but before you can make a move, the god of thunder flies by you.

 

“He’s going to get himself killed!” Sif exclaims, her eyes wide.

 

“What the hell does he think he’s doing?” Will asks incredulously.

 

“He’s going right for the head,” you state.

 

And he is. Thor Odinson holds Mjolnir out in front of him, using his power to blast through the air. The Frost Beast sees him coming and opens its mouth in a roar, ready to bite down and have the taste of blood in its mouth.

 

But Thor does not slow, and with a clenched jaw, he careens into the beast’s maw and bursts through the back of its throat. You inhale sharply at the sight of gore and broken teeth flying through the air. The creature makes a high pitched keening noise as it dies, the light leaving its eyes even before its legs give out.

 

“Stars,” Loki says quietly.

 

“Fates above, it worked!” Volstagg exclaims, lifting a fist in the air.

 

A bloody Thor zooms back towards the group as you watch the Frost Beast fall, its body crushing the Jotnar that can’t move out of the way fast enough. But the giants are still coming, and coming in droves.

 

“Heimdall!” Thor shouts as soon as he lands, stumbling a bit on the ice beneath his feet. “Heimdall! The Bifrost! Quickly!”

 

And the Bifrost finally opens, but not to bring you home. Odin Allfather rides from the roaring light upon his warhorse, clad in full battle armor. Thor notes Gungnir in his father’s hand, and his heart soars.

 

The Jotnar slow their frantic sprint towards the cliff your group stands upon. The sight of Odin leaves them uneasy, makes their feet waver uncertainly. Laufey has long joined his men in their attack upon Thor and his companions, and the Jotun King easily makes his way through his hesitant soldiers.

 

But as the Frost Giants gather around, as Laufey steps forward, they do not meet Odin’s wrath, but his words. “Laufey,” the Allfather calls out over the wind. “End this needless battle.”

 

The King of Jotunheim laughs once more, which makes Odin frown. His red eyes meet the other king’s blue gaze as he says, “Your boy sought this fight, not I, Odin Allfather.”

 

“I am aware,” Odin answers, shifting in his saddle. “These are the reckless actions of nothing but a boy, and I beseech you to treat them as such.”

 

“An attack on my own realm is not something I can ignore,” Laufey states coldly. “Surely you can understand that. No, he’ll get what he came for.... War and death.”

 

There is silence now, filled by the winds of Jotunheim. Finally, Odin breaks it. “So be it.”

 

At once, Laufey swings at the king with a blade of ice, but the Allfather is quicker. He fires Gungnir at the ground, the ensuing shockwave enough to blast back anyone in front of him. From behind his father, a broad grin spreads across Thor’s face.

 

“Yes! Yes! Now, we’ll finish them together!” he exclaims, readying Mjolnir.

 

“Silence!” Odin commands, the word filled with fury.

 

The Allfather raises his spear, and at once, your group is encompassed in the Bifrost’s light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angry Space Dad to the rescue!


	6. Midgard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you ready??

Jane Foster stares up at the black skies from the open roof panels of her SUV. She worries her lip nervously, muttering under her breath. “Come on…. Come on….”

 

“So what is your anomaly supposed to look like, Jane?” asks Erik Selvig, who pops his head up beside her as he turns his gaze to the stars as well.

 

“It's different each time, so I'm not sure,” Jane admits. “But all of my readings are suggesting that it’ll be… over there….” She points towards a section of the sky, which is still clear of the clouds she expected to see.

 

She fiddles with one of the instruments she'd set up on the roof of the vehicle, muttering to herself once again. “It's never taken this long before….”

 

“Can I turn on the radio?” Darcy Lewis, Jane’s intern, calls from the driver’s seat of the car. “It's too quiet out here.”

 

Jane represses a sigh of irritation, and carefully climbs back down into the back of the vehicle. “Sure, if you like jamming to old men talking about agriculture. Kids these days like that kind of stuff, right?”

 

She ignores her intern’s grumbled remark (“Because you're _so_ much older than me.”) and flips open her little notebook. Jane scans her notes, mouthing words as she searches through the pages.

 

Selvig makes his way back into the belly of the SUV as well, careful to avoid the many pieces of glowing technology. “Don't worry, Jane. We’ve still got time.”

 

“ _You_ might have time,” Darcy says under her breath.

 

“The others have all been so predictable, though,” Jane tells Erik in frustration. “They’re preceded by these geomagnetic storms, see? The last _seventeen._ That's not coincidence.” She holds up her notebook and taps her finger on the page to show the older man a data table. “Maybe… Maybe I miscalculated? Or something went wrong with my equipment?”

 

“Stop doubting yourself, and give it a little more time,” Erik tells her. “I have faith in you, yet.”

 

\---

 

Odin’s hand shakes with wrath as he pulls Heimdall’s broadsword from the Bifrost’s activation panel. He tosses the weapon to the Watcher, who easily catches it and steps to the side of the golden observatory.

 

You're gasping for air, crouched on the ground. Something is unsettled deep within you. The Bifrost irritates it, makes it wake. Your legs shake, and you can't get to your feet.

 

“Why are we back?!” Thor asks, outraged.

 

His words are jumbled in your mind, and you suddenly feel a hand on your shoulder. You look up into the face of Loki, who stares worriedly at you for a brief moment.

 

“Do you not realize what you've _done_?” Odin asks, his voice dangerously low.

 

You're finally on your feet, and although Loki’s eyes are upon his father and brother, his hand lingers on your shoulder. You spot Willow on the ground, leaned back against the curved, golden wall with her eyes closed. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, and she lets out a small groan.

 

Sif worriedly reaches down to help her up, but Willow shakes her head and waves the woman off, afraid she might be sick.

 

“I was protecting our kingdom,” Thor replies assuredly to the king, his expression fierce. “I made a statement today, Father! One that won't quickly be forgotten!”

 

“You led your friends to the slaughter!” Odin shouts, voice resounding around the observatory. “You would trade the lives of your companions, of your _family_ , to make a statement?!”

 

“A statement, and _more_!” Thor yells, teeth bared in his rage. “You would let our enemies walk over us, and then berate me when I simply raise a hand to stop the boot! The old ways are done! _Enough_ with the speeches, the _talking_! Where is the action?! Where is it, I ask you?! _Where_?!”

 

“You're nothing but a vain, arrogant, cruel boy!” Odin’s eye is wide with anger, his fist clenched as Gungnir begins to glow.

 

“And you are an old man and a _fool_!”

 

The shouted sentence bounces off the walls, and you unconsciously take a step back as you sense Odin’s wrath reaching a new level.

 

The Allfather stills himself, his words calm and as dangerous as they've ever been. “I am a fool, yes… to have assumed you ready for a throne of any kind.”

 

Loki steps hesitantly from your side. “Father –”

 

His sentence, his guilt-ridden offered defense of his brother, dies in his throat at the look he receives from Odin.

 

The Allfather turns back to his oldest son, who still looks up at him in stubborn defiance. Odin hardens his heart, slipping on the mentality of a king as he buries his paternal feelings.

 

He must do what is best for Asgard.

 

“Thor Odinson,” the king says, placing Gungnir down into the depths of the control panel. “A third time you have defied my orders, rebelled against your king. I warned you that another occurrence would not be tolerated, and yet here we stand. Through your stupidity, your _arrogance_ , you have plunged our kingdom into a war they did not ask for. Hear me now!”

 

The Bifrost opens once more, tendrils of power streaking forth from the portal in response to Odin’s rage. “You are unworthy of this realm!”

 

Your head aches, as if it'll split in two, and you feel something strong pulling on your back.

 

“You are unworthy of your title!”

 

You can hear a gasp of shock from Sif as Thor’s armor falls from him, metal pinging against the floor.

 

“And you are unworthy of those who would give their lives to stand by your side! _Hear_ _me_ , Thor! I hereby take from you your powers.”

 

Your eyes are clenched tight, your teeth gritted, although you see flashes of lightning through your eyelids.

 

“In the name of my father, and his father before him… I cast you out!”

 

It is the last thing you hear before there’s an almighty tug upon your whole being, and you find yourself hurtling backwards.

 

Odin holds up Mjolnir, a powerful, sealing phrase leaving his lips, before hurling it into the portal after his son. There's a bright flash, and then all is finally quiet.

 

Loki blinks rapidly as his thoughts race. His _brother_? Banished? Cast out? Was he dreaming? Surely he must be. The pit of guilt in his stomach stretches deep, but the darker, selfish part of his heart rejoices like it hasn't in years.

 

The light truly fades as Odin pulls Gungnir from the observatory’s contraption. Loki spies the Warriors Three across the room, who are all stunned into silence. He looks behind him to gauge your reaction to the events… and finds no one.

 

His heart plummets, eyes immediately searching every inch of the observatory.

 

“Allfather,” Sif chokes out, but Odin holds up his hand.

 

“No. Not now.”

 

It is indisputable. But in his panic, Loki speaks anyway. “Father, she… the warriors, the foreigners – the Bifrost, it has taken them!”

 

Odin glances to the remaining prince, his eye narrowed in leftover rage. “Good riddance.”

 

\---

 

In a whirl of wind and light, you can finally breathe again. You hear a commotion, the thud of a body colliding with a very solid object, and then doors slamming. You shakily get to your knees, but before you can focus, you lean over and throw up.

 

Your mind is loud with a voice, one that calls to you in fear.

 

“Oh, God,” you groan, spitting as the wind around the area slowly settles back down.

 

_I’m… I'm alive. Give me a second. I can't think straight with you yelling._

_Thank the Norns._

Loki’s relief is almost tangible, although the worry he still feels makes your stomach turn.

 

 _Did you do this?_ you ask coldly.

 

 _The Bifrost reacted to –_ he begins, but you push your sentence over his.

 

_No. You know what I mean. **Did you do this**?_

 

There's a long moment, where you close your eyes and clench the sand under your fingertips.

 

_Yes. But it wasn't meant…. I didn't mean for…._

 

You know he can feel your anger. You can't handle this right now.

 

You inform Loki that you'll talk with him when you're sure you're safe, and then gently prod him out of your head before he can ask something else. You're too disoriented to focus on anything but what's currently going on.

 

You hear actual voices over to your right, and you slowly get to your feet. Your head pounds with every step you take, and you can't help but groan. You blink, clearing the dust from your eyes, and then see lights in the dark up ahead.

 

“Will?” you call quietly, your throat hoarse.

 

You pray that she's still on Asgard.

 

There's a group of people circled around someone on the ground. One breaks from the group and darts back to the vehicle parked behind them. You wonder if you're going to have to fight them – if you're _capable_ of fighting them.

 

Then you realize it's two women and an older man. You can pick up their conversation now, as they hover over the figure crumpled on the sand.

 

“Come on, big guy, open your eyes. Do us all a favor and don't be dead, okay?”

 

“You mean do _you_ a favor,” the younger woman comments from the SUV as she fumbles around for the first aid kit. “ _I_ didn't hit him _._ ”

 

Darcy brings the kit to the group, and then notices the fallen man’s face in the beams of light. “Oh, wow. He’s _hot_ ,” she accidentally blurts out, her cheeks going pink.

 

You hear a groan, one that you recognize. Your face lights up. “Thor!” you call, your voice tight and raspy.

 

The three strangers jump at the sound, their heads turning frantically towards you. The joy at recognizing Thor slides off your face as you get closer, your memory returning quickly. “ _Thor_ ,” you growl angrily.

 

The god of thunder moans once more, and sits up suddenly. The woman that had been checking to see if he was alive looks down in surprise. “Oh, thank God.”

 

You reach him as he gets shakily to his feet, holding his head and staggering around.

 

“Easy there, big guy,” Jane says to him nervously.

 

“Hammer….” Thor mutters, his eyes scanning the ground. He has trouble focusing.

 

“Oh, you're definitely hammered, buddy,” Darcy agrees.

 

“Who are you?” the old man asks you, but you ignore him as you reach for Thor’s shoulder.

 

“You _idiot_!” you shriek, pulling him around to face you.

 

He blinks, slowly coming back to himself as he recognizes you. He says your name, stumbling a little as he rubs his face. “I'm… I'm _not_ an idiot!”

 

“Erik… Erik look,” Jane comments under her breath, pointing her flashlight at the ruins etched into the sand from the Bifrost.

 

The man risks a glance before pulling her back away from you and Thor. “Not now, Jane.”

 

“What? He’s fine! He’s on his feet,” she counters.

 

You ignore their background chatter. “You _had_ to challenge him, huh? Had to say all that shit? Do you even know _where we are_?!” you yell at the prince, your fists clenched.

 

Thor looks around, taking in the three strangers who watch with wide eyes. He focuses on the elderly man. “You there! What world is this?”

 

“Okay, maybe he’s not fine,” Jane pipes up in the awkward silence that follows. “But I want to take some readings.” She gestures to Darcy and Erik. “You two can take them to the hospital. I'll stay.”

 

“You will _not_ ,” Erik replies. He turns to you and Thor hesitantly. “It's alright, friends. We’re going to get you some help.”

 

“Where am I?!” Thor exclaims, anger rising to the surface once more. “Answer me!”

 

“You're in the desert outside of Puente Antiguo,” the man informs him.

 

“ _No_ , I mean what _realm_?!” Thor bellows in frustration. “Alfheim?! Nornheim?!”

 

“Uh, New Mexico?” the younger woman speaks up.

 

You gape at her a moment before turning back to the god of thunder. “Brilliant!” you shout angrily. “You're fucking brilliant, Thor!”

 

“You dare raise your voice to me?!” he asks, mouth hanging open and anger lighting a fire in his gaze. “I've heard of your impudence, yes, but I'll remind you that you speak with the future king!”

 

“This is _Earth_ you moron!” you reply, wanting to shake him by the shoulders.

 

“Enough shouting!” Erik tries to butt in. “This man needs a hospital! Miss, do you know hi –”

 

“He's fine!” you snap. “We’re both fine, just…. Go away, or do whatever the _hell_ it is you were doing.”

 

You ignore the three as the woman (Jane, you think her name was), hastily begins snapping photos and taking samples of the area’s earth. When Erik gives her an exasperated look, she gestures to you and shrugs.

 

Thor turns his face towards the heavens, swaying as if he's on a ship rather than solid ground. “Father! Heimdall! I know you hear me! Open the Bifrost!”

 

“Yeah, that seems right as rain to me,” Darcy mutters under her breath.

 

“Oh, and yeah, the ‘future king’, huh? You so sure about that?” you challenge as Thor’s blue eyes shoot back to you. “You're _banished_ , you idiot! By your _father_! Instead of shouting at them like an asshole, why not try making this right? Tell him you're sorry, or do whatever the hell you have to do to _get us off this rock_!”

 

“You don't think I wish to return home?!” Thor shouts, stepping up close to you. “I heard my father’s words, warrior! But I cannot go home yet… no… not until… Mjolnir….” He holds his hands to his head again, his knees unsteady for a moment.

 

Jane starts to say something, but Thor suddenly looks up at you and speaks over her. “Why are _you_ here anyway? Are you not a cast-out as well, woman? Rather, you should feel no different! Foreigner here, foreigner there, what does it matter to you? You _do_ know you're still a foreigner, yes? Or have you been too busy _bedding_ _my_ _brother_ to notice?”

 

The sound you make is one you aren't sure you could ever replicate. It is something between a screech, a shout, and a scream, and it's accompanied by your fist making connection with the Prince of Asgard’s face.

 

And to your surprise, Thor not only goes down, but the force sends him skidding backwards in the sand.

 

Erik yells an exclamation, and Jane shouts and backs away, her camera clenched tightly in one hand and a sample in the other.

 

“Oh, my God!” you hear the younger woman shout.

 

In the next second, something makes connection with your side, latches onto you, shoots painful electrical jolts through your body. You shriek as your muscles spasm, and you swiftly wrench the object from you and back away, your legs shaking uncontrollably. “What the _fuck_?!”

 

“I'm sorry,” she squeaks, holding her hands up and tossing her taser aside. “It was an accident! You… You guys are freaking me the fuck out!”

 

“How are you still standing?” Jane asks you quietly with wide eyes, accidentally dropping the sample she was holding.

 

“Everyone stop, stop!” Selvig shouts, holding his hands up.

 

Before you can speak, another bout of nausea hits you, and you lean over and retch again.

 

“Are you alright?” Jane questions, carefully loading up the data she has collected into the SUV.

 

“I'm fine,” you growl, standing up straight again.

 

You walk over to Thor and kneel by his head. He's been knocked unconscious, which confuses you. How? It doesn't make any sense. Thor has always been much stronger than you.

 

“Is he okay?” the girl who tasered you asks.

 

“He's just knocked out,” you comment, sighing angrily.

 

“Let’s back up,” Erik says, attempting a calming tone. “Who are you people?”

 

You stand up and look at the three strangers warily. Jane continues busying herself with the readings from the machines in the back of her vehicle, while the man and the younger woman glance between you and Thor.

 

“I actually think I caught that his name is Thor,” the girl says, pointing at him. “And I think he said you were….”

 

When she states your name, you cut your eyes to the side and let out a huff of breath. “Yeah. That's us. Who are you?”

 

“I'm Erik Selvig. An astrophysicist. The woman over there is Jane Foster. Also an astrophysicist,” the older man answers.

 

Jane waves her hand from the SUV without looking over. You raise your eyebrows at her. Where you come from, this lack of attention and self-preservation would've gotten her killed almost immediately.

 

“And this is Darcy Lewis. Jane’s intern,” Erik finishes.

 

“I'm, uh, sorry about the taser,” the intern tells you.

 

You survey her a moment. “Right.”

 

“Why are you two out here in the middle of the night?” Erik asks.

 

“We… came out here to drink. Our friends ditched us as a prank,” you lie.

 

“And you know this man?” Erik affirms with a raise of his eyebrow, motioning to the unconscious Thor.

 

“He's my brother,” you say.

 

“Uh,” Darcy speaks up, “but didn't _he_ say something about you… uh… ‘bedding _his_ brother’?”

 

You glare at her, your face going red as you think quickly. “He's my brother- _in-law_.”

 

_Oh, gods, where the hell did that come from?_

 

“Oh, okay,” Darcy replies, staring over at Thor with interest. “So, uh, what's his situation, then, huh?”

 

“Darcy, enough!” Jane calls out from the SUV.

 

“Well, look,” Selvig tells you. “We hit your brother-in-law with our car during the storm. Accidentally. A blow to the head was probably the last thing he needed. We should really take him to a hospital.”

 

You hate hospitals. But you have no healing abilities that you can use to help others, and you have no idea where your friend Willow is. Your concern is also growing rapidly. Thor hasn't gotten up yet. He's bleeding. You try to think of a time you've seen the man fall unconscious in battle.

 

Nothing comes to mind.

 

“I… I guess,” you agree slowly, feeling nerves twist your stomach.

 

“Thank goodness,” Erik mutters. “Here, help us get him in the back, if you don't mind. We can give you two a ride.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate Title: You Punch Prince Space Brat In The Face Because He Zinged Ya'


	7. Lies and Lessons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's take it down a notch. Lots of action going on in that last chapter lol

Loki cannot rest. He paces in his room, unable to calm his mind. So many things had come to pass, and so quickly. His brother is gone, banished by Odin himself. And while he still worries _slightly_ for Thor, Loki figures he should be rejoicing at this chance to be true heir to the throne.

 

But he can't.

 

Because you're gone, too.

 

He waits for you to speak with him once more, although the silence has stretched longer and longer. He's no idea of where his father sent Thor, and wonders if you're in danger. He remembers the anger in your thoughts, which opens up new worries.

 

What will he tell you? The truth? That he gave in to childish jealousies, which resulted in having you cast out?

 

And _why weren’t you back yet_? Were you truly so cross with him that you'd rather stay in a different realm? Were you too weak to use your abilities to travel back? Or had a terrible event occurred since he last heard from you? He wishes you would just _say something_.

 

He receives no refuge from his thoughts as he paces; his chambers have evidence of your presence everywhere he looks.

 

Beside the love seat in his front room sits a small bookshelf he'd had crafted for you, your favorite novels from his personal library sitting within.

 

Two of the shelves of his trophy room are nothing but objects won from battles at your side – several you had tossed to him yourself, knowing he would like them.

 

And in his bedroom, he cannot look anywhere without finding something of yours. There's a line of your favorite trinkets sitting on his desk. Your bag rests near the wall by his bed. Across his table is a scattered array of parchment and paints, and he can almost see you sitting in his chair as you are like to do. Hel, your clothes even take up space in his wardrobe. You’re everywhere.

 

It makes his heart ache. He can't remember the last time he's had a night apart from you. Your own chambers are basically nothing but pretense, as you never object to keeping him company.

 

And he always wants your company.

 

He forces himself to sit on his bed, his eyes fixing on his desk. He's moved the green stone you'd given him – a useless rock from the Asgardian garden pools – from his trophy room to his desk top. He’s found sentiment in the odd gift, and decided long ago to keep it close as he worked.

 

He wants to explain himself to you. He wants to tell you to come home, to come back to him. He wants the comfort your presence gives him, as his thoughts are still full of the unnerving sight of his skin turning blue.

 

Staring at the green stone, he softly calls out to you, his mind carefully reaching.

 

And he waits.

 

\---

 

You sit in the back of the SUV, surrounded by Jane’s glowing electronics. In the soft, blue light, you stare at the unconscious face of the god of thunder. And you’re not the only one keeping an eye on him.

 

“He’s still breathing, right?” Darcy asks, peering over the seat.

 

You look up at her without saying anything, and she averts her gaze. You put a hand to your side, which still hurts from both your landing and the taser. Jane is talking in a rush to Erik about the storm and what she calls some kind of ‘electromagnetic phenomena’. You don’t understand, nor do you really care about their conversation.

 

Your name is whispered into your mind, and you sigh heavily. _Loki._

_I’m sorry._

His apology seems sincere, although you doubt he’s apologizing for the _entire_ situation. _Tell me what you did._

You sense his hesitation. _I put off my brother’s coronation._

_By getting him **banished**?!_

You shake your head and rub the side of your face as you wait on his answer.

 

_I didn’t expect Father to take it that far, no. But it will be good for Thor in the long run, trust me. That’s beside the point…. Where are you?_

You look around to see Darcy peering back at Thor again. _Earth,_ you think angrily.

 

Although you can’t see him, from his tone, you know the prince raises an eyebrow. _Midgard?_ He’s relieved, the emotion coming through as he continues. _Well, that’s fine, then. What are you doing?_

“Hey, you guys doing okay back there?” Jane asks from the front seat.  “You’re so quiet.”

 

“Yeah, I’m just, like, still really drunk,” you answer, forcing a short giggle after your sentence. “Kinda just want to sit here and sober up.”

 

“Oh, alright. Yeah, do that,” Jane agrees, glancing at you from the rear view mirror.

 

 _I’m currently in a vehicle riding to the hospital with your unconscious brother,_ you tell Loki when the attention is once again off of you.

 

 _Oh,_ he answers. _I suppose our father did render him practically mortal. Is he wounded?_

_He’ll be fine,_ you reply.

 

It’s quiet for a while, and you listen to Jane and Erik talking.

 

_Why haven’t you come home?_

The question holds something else in it, something that tells you he needs you back, that there is something wrong and he’s worried. You don’t hear that tone a lot, and it makes you hesitate in your answer.

 

 _I can’t just leave Thor like this,_ you finally tell him.

 

 _Why not?_ The answer is curt, and perhaps holds a hint of jealousy.

 

 _Because he’s been hit by a car and punched in the face,_ you reply, mentally sighing. _He still hasn’t woken up. Probably didn’t need another blow to the head, to be honest._

 

 _Who attacked him?_ Loki asks.

 

 _The car thing was an accident. Two scientists and an intern ran into him. I’m the one that punched him,_ you admit.

 

Once more, there’s a small silence, and you look over at Thor’s bruised jaw. You flex your hand, your knuckles still sore from the impact.

 

 _Why did you hit him?_ the prince asks, his tone thoroughly amused.

 

_He was being an ass, and he pissed me off._

_Well, shouldn’t your little friend have him on his feet again by now?_ he questions.

 

You freeze, your eyes widening. _Will’s not on Asgard?_

_She’s not with you?_

“Damn it,” you grumble out loud, reaching for your little travel bag, which holds your black notebook.

 

_I’m sure she’s fine. And my brother can take care of himself. Why not come home for a bit? I owe you a proper explanation._

_You do,_ you agree, eyeing the front of the vehicle as you flip open your notebook. _But look…. I can’t come back yet, okay? I’ve got to find Will. I also want to make sure I didn’t obliterate your dumbass brother’s brain._

_I’m sure there’d be no difference,_ Loki grumbles.

 

You search your bag for your pen, but before you can find it, the SUV comes to an abrupt halt. Jane twists around in her seat. “Okay, we’re at the ER.”

 

 _Get some rest, Loki,_ you tell him, your tone growing soft. _It’s so late. We’re at the hospital._

\---

 

Volstagg, Hogun, and Sif sit in the infirmary with Fandral. Olav won’t let him leave until morning, to ensure his lung does not collapse, and so the other warriors wait with him. None truly want to be alone tonight.

 

It is hard for them to rest, although Fandral has finally dozed off. Hogun lurks in the corner, glaring at the floor. Volstagg is perched on the window seat, rubbing a large hand across his face. Sif sits in the infirmary chair, which she’s pulled over to the wall.

 

“Sif, you should go,” Volstagg speaks quietly into the silence. “You look exhausted.”

 

The woman’s eyes flicker up to him. “Do you think we can go to the Allfather tomorrow, and ask him to end Thor’s banishment?”

 

“We’ve been over this,” Hogun answers from the edge of the room, his voice low. “We’ll have to wait to gain audience.”

 

“But do you think it will _work_?” Sif asks, leaning forward in her chair. “Honestly.”

 

“Honestly?” Volstagg answers, grimacing. “I doubt it.”

 

Sif returns his expression, and sighs. “I thought Hogun was the grim one, Volstagg.”

 

“I’m just being truthful,” he answers, shrugging.

 

“And he’s correct,” Hogun adds. “This situation… is bad.”

 

Volstagg nods, and Sif puts her head in her hands as she leans forwards on her knees. “Yes,” she says. “Yes, it is.”

 

\---

 

“What have you done?”

 

Frigga’s voice is dangerous, her steely gray eyes narrowed at her husband.

 

“I have done what had to be done,” he answers, although his voice betrays a weakness in his tone.

 

The queen steps towards the balcony, where her husband stands. He gazes out over the grounds, taking in the peaceful night as much as he can. Frigga cannot bring herself to move beside him. “He did something foolish, yes, but _banishment_? He's your son!”

 

“He brought us to the brink of war!” Odin thunders, his hands clenching on the balcony’s railing. “He will not listen to me, he will not listen to reason…. What else was I to do?”

 

“Perhaps not cast him out,” Frigga replies dryly. “To render him powerless and have him walk among mortals…. I’d not have the heart to do something so cruel to someone I loved.”

 

She wrings her hands, looking distressed. Odin sighs, and turns towards his wife. “My dear, it is for the best. Have trust in your husband, and your king. Fret not; I watch over him even now.”

 

“Why watch from afar when you could just bring him home?” Frigga asks, stepping up to the balcony railing.

 

“He makes his own fate now, my love. There's nothing more I can do.”

 

\---

 

_***_

_WILL? HEY! ARE YOU ALIVE? Fuck the Bifrost, damn. Tell me where you are, so I can come get you._

_I’m with Thor. He’s got no powers, and he lost his hammer apparently. I kiiind of knocked him unconscious. Will be trying to convince him to come with me when he wakes up. I'm a little nervous to leave him._

_Please be okay._

 

***

 

You worry your lip as you close the notebook and sink lower in the chair inside the exam room. Jane, Selvig, and Darcy had left you at the triage nurse’s desk after Thor had been taken back. They trusted you, his _relative_ , to fill out the paperwork.

 

You'd done your best, but didn't know enough about the area to fake a good address. You had hiccuped as you spoke with the nurse, figuring she'd think any flaws in the papers were attributed to your ‘drunken state’.

 

You told her your _brother-in-law_ didn’t have insurance (whatever that was), and she'd explained a complicated billing process that you'd agreed to without thinking about it.

 

_Sure, send me a bill. That'll work just great._

 

The nurse in the room gives you a look as she tends to Thor, extremely curious about your attire. You can’t blame her. You know the Asgardian garb sticks out in comparison to those around you.

 

Earlier, Darcy had asked about your clothing after seeing you and Thor in the bright lights of the hospital. “So, what, were you guys coming back from a convention or something?”

 

“Yeah,” you'd replied with no hesitation.

 

“He's into that stuff?” she'd asked, in reference to Thor, and you'd once again given her a look instead of answering.

 

Your previous time on Earth hadn't been pleasant, and you didn't necessarily have any love for the planet. But at least the mundane aspect of the _humans_ around you meant you were relatively safe.

 

You hug your feet up to your body as you sit, wrapping your arms around your shins and resting your head on your knees. Exhaustion pulls at you, but it's hard to doze off. You feel exposed, and out of place.

 

The lights are bright, but eventually you feel your eyelids grow heavy. You can tell it's deep into the night, and you rub at your eyes.

 

 _I miss you_ , you think, the thought vocalizing in your mind without your permission.

 

You figure the prince is probably asleep, so you're surprised when a quiet response slips into your thoughts.

 

_Funny…. Not even half a day has passed, and yet… I miss you, too._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda  
> fluuuuurfy.  
> Just a lil' bit.


	8. A Noble Quest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's official. I'm only one chapter ahead of what I'm posting, simply because I can't control myself and I like updating. lol Oh, well.
> 
> Thank you guys for all the lovely comments and kudos! Seriously, it really means a lot to me, and never fails to make me smile. <3

Midgard is not a known for its otherworldly beauty (in comparison to a realm such as Asgard), although if one really looks, beautiful things can be found. Things like the view of the sky on a clear night, dotted with stars and galaxies. Things like the sound of the wind whistling around modern buildings and technologies, ruffling leaves on the trees present in the area. And even things like the two ravens, their sleek, black feathers rendering them practically invisible as they perch upon the edge of a hospital awning.

 

Within an ER exam room lies the god of thunder. His dreams are chaotic and confusing, wherein he is falling through the sky with no powers to catch himself. Knowing he will die when he hits the ground, the prince screws up his face and waits for the end.

 

Then, just before impact, there’s a pinch in Thor’s arm. He blinks slowly, the white ceiling above his bed coming into focus. He has no idea where he is, and can see movement near where he lays.

 

A face swims into his view. It's a man, who gives him a warm smile. “Hey. There you are. Don't worry, I'm just taking a little blood.”

 

“Be gone, vile man!” Thor exclaims, his words slurred as he jerks his arm away. “You _dare_ attack a son of Odin?!”

 

“Thor!” you say, the noise startling you back to alertness as you hop out of your chair and almost hit the floor – your leg has fallen asleep.

 

“I need some help!” the nurse shouts, attempting to wrangle an angry and confused Thor.

 

Two orderlies rush into the room, one pushing you back gently. “Stay back, Miss!”

 

“Unhand me, you savages!” Thor bellows, and promptly hurls one of the men into the wall.

 

“Thor, stop!” you call to him in frustration.

 

More people burst through the door, including a couple of security guards. You can't get to Thor, so you step back and watch (admittedly, a _little_ amused) as he attempts to fight off the people trying to calm him down. You wiggle your leg, willing the feeling to return to it.

 

“Sir, sir, please! We’re going to have to restrain you if you don't –”

 

“THE FIRES OF HEL TAKE YOU, DEVILS!”

 

“What the hell is this guy _on_?” a nurse calls out to you, her eyes wide.

 

“Nothing!” you insist, shaking your head and watching as Thor manages to twist out of the grip of another security guard.

 

Even without his powers, you note that he's holding up surprisingly well.

 

“Sedate him!” another nurse gasps, barley able to stop Thor from knocking over a piece of expensive medical equipment.

 

“Unhand me at _once_! I am a _prince_ _of_ _Asgard_!” Thor has finally struggled his way to the door, and is almost out of the room when he sees you. “Warrior! Assist me!”

 

You catch sight of a syringe in one of the nurses’ hands. “Whoa, hold up, now!” you say, stepping forward on feet that tingle as blood slowly returns to your leg.

 

And then the orderly injects a sedative into the mighty god of thunder, who whirls around and stares at the man with an expression of utmost offense.

 

“Thor, calm _down_ ,” you insist, irritated.

 

“I AM CALM!” he shouts, and you actually snort at the vehement statement.

 

“Keep him talking,” a nurse mumbles to you as he watches Thor warily. “It'll take a bit to kick in.”

 

“What's happening?” Thor asks you, jerking his arms out of the grips of the security guards, who promptly grab him again. “What place is this?”

 

“It's… uh… an infirmary,” you explain. “These people are… healers. Nurses.”

 

Thor eyes the others gathered in his room. “Healers?”

 

“Yep,” you answer.

 

Thor thinks on this a moment, and then turns to the guards. “You may release me.”

 

“I don't think so,” one says to him.

 

“Sir, please lay back down,” a nurse tells Thor, lightly touching his arm. “They'll let you go if you cooperate.”

 

He hesitates, and then dips his head, indignation coloring his cheeks. “I'll comply to your wishes, as of now. _Release_ _me_.”

 

The guards tentatively let go of the man’s arms, and he carefully sits on the edge of the bed.

 

“Am I wounded?” Thor asks you, rubbing his head as he glares around at the foreign technology.

 

“Yeah,” you answer, watching as several people in the room help those who sustained injuries from their bout with Thor. “Look, lie down, or they're gonna’ restrain you. And we don't want that, now do we?”

 

He watches you, glancing around at the others. Their looks are not kind. “Why do you speak to me in this manner?” he asks you.

 

“Because I'm tired,” you snap, which is a very true statement. “Aren't you tired, Thor?”

 

He puts a hand to his head, and blinks a few times. “My head aches.”

 

“That would make sense,” you reply.

 

He looks up at you, his blue eyes bright. “Any word from my father?”

 

“Uh…. No, buddy. I'm sorry,” you answer, and you watch as the hopeful look slides from his face.

 

“Sir, why don't you lie down?”

 

Thor’s gaze shoots back up to the strangers that stand against the walls of the room. “I would not feel comfortable speaking from such an undignified position.”

 

“Nothing coming from you is ‘dignified’ while you're in that hospital gown,” you tell him, a smirk spreading over your face.

 

Thor sits still for a moment, and then shakes his head. “I feel odd. Why do I feel this way?”

 

At the sight of the sedative kicking in, the nurses step forward once more.

 

“Warrior, am I dying?”

 

You sink back into your chair, and sigh. “No, Thor. You'll be fine. Just go to sleep.”

 

“Will you be here when I wake? Or only… strangers?” he asks as the nurses help him lay back.

 

“I'll be right here, you big idiot,” you tell him, not unkindly. “See you in the morning.”

 

\---

 

Asmund steps through the door of his home and is immediately greeted by his mother, Brenna. “Ah, back so soon, dear. How was the market?”

 

The boy sets the purchases on the table for Brenna, nodding at her as he does. “It was fine, Mother. Is Sigrid up?”

 

“She should be,” the woman answers, motioning towards their guest room.

 

Asmund walks away without another word, his mind busy. Upon reaching Sigrid’s door, he knocks softly. “My dear, are you awake?”

 

“Yes! Give me a moment!” Sigrid chimes.

 

Normally even the sound of her voice would give him comfort, but the thought of the conversation he is to have with her still leaves Asmund unsettled. Sigrid opens the door, a yawn hidden behind her hand. “Were you up practicing, Asmund?”

 

“No, I ran an errand for my mother,” he replies, and then hesitates a moment. “Sigrid, I need to talk with you.”

 

“About what?” the girl asks, her golden eyes clouding with apprehension.

 

“There are rumors in the market,” Asmund tells her gently. “They say that Thor has been banished.”

 

“Banished?” Sigrid repeats, her dark eyebrows rising.

 

“Yes. I heard that his rebelliousness has caught up with him. We’re… We’re at war with Jotunheim, apparently. Thor sought battle with the Frost Giants, and upon returning last night, was cast out. By Odin, no less,” he continues. “And what's more…. Well, they say the foreigners are banished as well.”

 

Sigrid blinks. She's silent for a few seconds before saying, “Well, that's ridiculous. Why would Odin banish them?”

 

“No one’s sure,” Asmund answers. “Some say they tried to defend Thor, while others claim they attacked Odin themselves. But I just… I thought you'd want to be made aware.”

 

He watches Sigrid for a moment. Her eyes shift to the side, as if she's concentrating. They almost immediately flicker back to him, her expression morphing from disbelief to worry. “I… I can't reach her, Asmund. Wherever she is… I can't reach her.”

 

\---

 

Loki opens his eyes again. It's early. Much too early for him on a normal day. But last night he'd found no rest, merely mimicking the action of sleep as he lay with his eyes closed. He cannot pretend anymore, and so he rises.

 

He'd talked with you (explaining what he felt necessary) until he'd sensed you lightly doze off, until your words grew more and more heavy with sleep. He had pulled away, allowing you whatever peaceful rest you were capable of. The prince was not so lucky.

 

His mind paraded images before his closed eyes all night, of different scenarios and memories, some old, some new. Many visions included him sitting on Odin’s golden throne, looking down as those in the room knelt to him. Others played out as memories of the day, of Thor vanishing into the portal. These, however, usually led to thoughts of you (or rather, the absence of you). He tried to avoid this, knowing it would not help his sleepless night.

 

But there is one image he still cannot shake. One he's been pondering for hours upon hours. One that has truly stolen his night’s rest.

 

He looks down at his hand, at his perfectly pale hand, and flexes his fingers. Had he imagined it? But no, he can't have – the monster had seen it, too. Had looked at him quizzically with eyes as red as fresh blood.

 

His mind already has the answer, but he refuses to believe it. He can't even allow himself to fully form the thought.

 

Not without proof.

 

His lips press into a thin line as he walks from his room without bothering to change his clothes.

 

\---

 

Something tingles in the back of your mind, and it slowly wakes you up. At first you think it’s Loki, although no words coast through your thoughts. As you suppress a yawn, you realize it's a different sort of magic that has woken you.

 

There's a new entry in your notebook.

 

Your fingers fumble against the zipper of your travel pouch, making it harder than it should be to retrieve the small, black book.

 

***

 

_I’m alive! I had a nasty crash landing. Currently healing in a safe place. I don’t know where I’m at, though, but it sounds like I’m in a city somewhere._

_Where are you? What do you mean he lost his hammer? What’s going on?! Are you both okay?_

 

***

 

You breathe a sigh of relief, reaching for your pen. Your travel bag has just enough room to hold these two objects, and you're thankful you habitually strap it on anytime you leave the palace.

 

You purse your lips, and scrawl back to her, _We’re fine. Thor’s knocked out still._ You look over at where he snores, his legs twisted in the hospital sheets. _Met some humans that insisted on him going to the hospital. I’m waiting on him to wake up. Trying to stay awake._

You yawn, and rub your eyes again. It's early. You can't have gotten that much sleep.

 

Your eyes flick to the page as your friend’s loopy handwriting appears as she writes.

 

***

 

_Sounds thrilling. I managed to not end up at the hospital, but that damn Bifrost really took it out of me. Rest up when you can. Let me know how things go._

 

***

 

You nod to yourself, stretching out your legs from where you sit. _Alright_ , you reply. _Get me a city name or something when you can._

 

You slowly get to your feet and stretch, and then walk over to Thor’s bed. “Hey,” you say, poking his shoulder.

 

He doesn't stir. You survey him for a second, your eyes going over his strong features, his waves of golden hair that seem to leave the nurses weak in the knees when they come in to check on him. You roll your eyes, and poke his shoulder again, harder. “Hey, dummy, wake up.”

 

Thor groans, his blue eyes opening to you staring down at him. He tries to sit up, only to find his arms held in place. Baffled, he turns his head and realizes his wrists are in restraints. He pulls with all his might, but cannot break free, much to his displeasure and humiliation. “What is this?”

 

“ _Yeah_ , about that…. They had to restrain you,” you tell him, bobbing your head from side to side. “I mean, you _were_ throwing people around and everything. I had to sign the papers, too. Almost felt bad.”

 

“Release me!” he orders you.

 

“Listen, buster. Let’s get something straight,” you state coldly, jabbing a finger in his direction. “You’re not a prince here. You’re just a man strapped to a bed in a night gown.”

 

He glares at you, feeling even more undignified to have the situation so bluntly pointed out to him. “Yes, alright,” he finally tells you, his words still bubbling with anger.

 

You doubt his sincerity, but you’ll take what you can get. “Alright, look. We both want to get back. So how about I just take us on over to Asgard? After we pick up Will, of course.”

 

“I cannot,” he says to you. “Heimdall will not open the Bifrost to me. To arrive by any other sort of manner would likely land me in a cell, or banished once more.”

 

“Your father would imprison you?” you ask, shocked for a moment until you remember your current circumstances in regards to Odin. “I mean… I guess I could see that.”

 

“He does nothing without reason, although I can't say I agree with his decision,” Thor grumbles angrily, pulling again on his restraints. “I wish to be free of this place. Let’s be gone.”

 

“And go where?” you ask. “If we’re not going back to Asgard, what the hell are you gonna’ do here?”

 

Thor leans forward, as much as his restraints will allow him. You think he's about to say something profound. Instead, you hear, “I… I don’t know.”

 

“Well, _I_ can’t go back without finding Will. So, how about you just come with me, for the time being?”

 

“So she has fallen as well?” Thor asks.

 

“Yeah, I think so,” you reply.

 

The man locks eyes with you, and then heaves a sigh. “Very well. Let us go on this quest.”

 

“You don't have to make it sound so noble,” you state, looking around and quickly summoning your dagger. “Now, hold still, unless you want your wrists slit.”

 

\---

 

“Are you _sure_ about this?” Selvig asks uncertainly, shaking his head as Jane peels into the ER parking lot. “I mean, those images were slightly blurry.”

 

“You saw the picture!” she replies, throwing the car into park and turning the engine off. “Those weren't our stars, Erik. Those were foreign constellations in the center of that phenomenon.”

 

“Not to mention the dude in the middle of the storm,” Darcy pipes up, opening her door and stepping out into the parking lot.

 

“ _Especially_ that,” Jane agrees, locking the vehicle.

 

“Hope they're still here,” Erik mutters as he follows the two women, intrigued despite himself.

 

The group hustles into the department, heading straight for the admissions nurse. The woman smiles pleasantly at Jane, who steps up to the desk. “What can I do for you, ma'am?”

 

“Hi, yes, I dropped off a man here last night, and I really need to see him again,” Jane explains.

 

“Oh. I'm very sorry, but only relatives are allowed to visit,” the nurse says apologetically.

 

Jane can tell that the woman is tired, and pushes her luck a little bit. “But… I'm actually his wife.”

 

Darcy snorts, although she quickly covers the outburst with a cough. The nurse glances over at her, and then turns back to Jane. “I thought last night you left everything to his sister-in-law. Said that you didn't know him.”

 

“I meant that I barely know him _anymore_ ,” Jane rectifies quickly. “The man he's become over the years…. I mean, staying out late, drinking with his brother’s wife? Who does that?”

 

The nurse purses her lips. “Ah. I see. ‘Drunk’ explains a lot. Well, Mrs. Smith, he's in room 201.”

 

“Thank you,” Jane answers, nodding, and her group moves on down the hall.

 

“Mrs. Smith?” Darcy asks, raising her eyebrows. “His name is ‘Thor Smith’?”

 

“ _Very_ creative fake name,” Selvig states dryly. “I reckon the other forms the girl filled out are falsified as well.”

 

“Hurry,” Jane insists, picking up the pace.

 

She feels a sudden urgency to reach the room, her heart beating quickly as she takes note of the numbers outside of the doorways.

 

“201, 201,” Jane mutters out loud, and then spots the number in question. “Here!”

 

And the three step inside to find a very empty bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've seen the movie "Thor", you know Reader and Thor aren't gonna' get too far before meeting Jane and Company again. Next chapter is going to be a doozy, so buckle up, kiddos.
> 
> Side note: I'm kind of curious to know what country you readers are from! If you don't want to tell me, that's fine. But if so, leave me a comment, or message me on Tumblr [here](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/wanderingworldwarrior)!! Ask me anything. :)
> 
> And I hail from America, by the way.


	9. Look, But Don't Touch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The set up, my friends, is almost complete. :]

“Are you sure?” Halvar asks dangerously, staring down at the man kneeling before him.

 

“Yes, I swear it,” the sorcerer replies, ducking his head.

 

“What good does bringing this information do you, Asgardian?” the king questions coldly.

 

“I’m not Asgardian,” the man replies wearily. “Not anymore. I would be put to death, or imprisoned if they were to find me.”

 

“And why should I not hand a traitor like yourself over to Odin, then?” Halvar asks, waving his hand nonchalantly. “What have you to offer me, besides useless rumors?”

 

“They’re not useless, sire,” the sorcerer responds, maintaining his kneeled position although his voice rises. “They’re true. Prince Thor has been exiled, for the time being, although he seeks to return. Imagine how much easier it would be to take Asgard without the god of thunder within their forces.”

 

Halvar leans forward in his simple throne, his expression thoughtful. “He seeks to return, does he?”

 

“He does,” the man affirms.

 

Halvar settles back again in his seat, shaking his head. “Once more, you only offer me words.”

 

“I can do more.”

 

Halvar raises an eyebrow and waits. The man tentatively looks up, meeting the king’s gaze. “Sire, I’ve studied the technology left behind by the Ordinat. My magic has grown ever stronger in my travels, and I’ve sought out new and powerful arcana. Thor has been rendered mortal and weak on Midgard, which would make him easy to strike down. But with him is the Bloody Warrior.”

 

“Asgard’s foreigners are on Midgard?” the king interrupts, actual surprise in his voice.

 

“At least the one,” the sorcerer states. “You know of her powers. She could have him returned in an instant, which wouldn’t do. It would be in our best interests to keep them both in the realm of mortals.”

 

“ _Our_ interests?” Halvar asks, intrigued.

 

“It is not unknown that you seek revenge,” the man says slowly. “And it is too late for me to find repentance. Too long, I have been nothing but a commonplace sorcerer. I’ve always wanted more, sir. Always.”

 

Halvar considers the sorcerer Jerrik, still knelt humbly before him. He is a broken and lost man, driven solely by ambition. “Do it,” the king decides. “Prove yourself useful, and I can give you more.”

 

\---

 

Loki finds himself walking with purpose, his hands clasped behind his back. He knows where his feet will take him if he allows it – to the only thing that can simulate the touch of a Jotun.

 

To the Casket of Ancient Winters.

 

“Loki! A moment!”

 

The call stops him in his tracks as he hears footsteps behind him in the hall. “Lady Sif,” he greets as he turns around.

 

He is met with the sight of not only the Lady Sif, but also the Warriors Three. Loki raises his eyebrows. “Ah, Fandral. Good to see you recovered.”

 

“Yes, thank you,” Fandral replies, giving the prince a small smile. “I'm grateful to be wounded rather than dead, to be sure. A guard warned Odin of our venture, in case you hadn't heard,” the blond man adds. “Otherwise, none would've come for us.”

 

“Although we’ve yet to figure out how he knew,” Volstagg muses, patting Fandral’s shoulder and making him wince.

 

Loki waits a beat, and then hears himself say, “I told him.”

 

The four stare at the prince in silence. He's derailed their original purpose for stopping him.

 

“What?” Fandral asks.

 

“Oh, yes,” Loki answers venomously. “I instructed him to go to Odin after we’d left. We never should've made it to Laufey.” The prince’s expression darkens, his long night making his temper short. “The man should be flogged for taking so long. Things could've been different.”

 

“You… _You_ told the guard?” Volstagg questions, eyebrows up.

 

“Why would you…? What were you…?” Sif stutters, anger slowly spreading over her features. “How _could_ you?”

 

“I saved our lives!” Loki shouts, his voice echoing down the marble halls. He puts a hand to his head. “ _And_ Thor’s. How could I have known Father would banish him? You think this is the outcome I hoped for? But either way, it’s too late, now,” he hisses, glaring at the people in front of him.

 

“Loki, you can help him, still,” Sif states, trying to keep her voice level. “You must go to the Allfather, and convince him to change his mind! You're his son! He’ll listen to you.”

 

Loki laughs coldly. “I _must_ , Lady Sif? If you think Odin will listen to me, you are as _foolish_ as Thor. And even if I accomplished this goal, what then?” he questions, spreading his hands from his sides. “I love my brother more dearly than any of you, but none of us should deny what he is. An arrogant, reckless fool. His first action as would-be king was to enact _war_. You know the things he would do as well as I. And I ask you, is _that_ what Asgard needs in a leader? Hmm?” He waits.

 

The absence of their voices is louder than any words that could've been spoken.

 

“No, don't tell me what I _must_ do.” The prince glares at them, and then turns to go. “I bid you all a good morning.”

 

Thor’s friends watch Loki stride down the hall away from them, the silence between the four very tense and uncomfortable as they think on his words.

 

\---

You’ve always found that walking confidently, as if you know exactly where you’re going, has stopped others from asking too many questions. That, and lying your ass off if confronted. People generally believe what is told to them, and even if they have their suspicions, you’ve found few rarely act on them. Humans especially are funny in this way.

 

And thus, you find yourself a side door and slip outside of the hospital with the god of thunder.

 

“Look, we’ve got to get you some clothes,” you say as you skirt around the back of the parking lot with Thor. There are still too many people around for your taste. “Not only do you look ridiculous, but you're also going to get us caught. If you weren’t so _slow_ , we could’ve been miles away already.”

 

“I don’t see what the issue is,” Thor replies from behind you. “If I had my powers, I’d have no problem using them in front of an audience. The humans are simple. They’d worship us as _gods_. Hel, they have before, I see no reason they wouldn't again.”

 

“Keep that talk up, if you want to end up as a science experiment,” you grumble, rolling your eyes. “There’s security cameras around here. I’m not risking anything. And hurry up, damn. That couple is looking over at us.”

 

“What is your _brilliant_ plan then, woman?” Thor retorts, yawning. The sedative still sits in his veins, and it makes him sleepy. “We’ve nowhere to go.”

 

“I'm aware,” you say crossly, and then look back at him. “Jeez, at least _try_ to keep the back of the gown closed. Anyone across the street could see your… your everything.”

 

“I've no qualms about my body,” Thor answers smugly, not bothered in the slightest.

 

You groan and roll your eyes. “ _Asgardians_. Alright, let’s just keep moving. We, uh, may need to resort to some ‘morally gray’ activities to get new clothes.”

 

Thor’s head tilts slightly to the side at your statement. “What do you mean?”

 

“I’m saying we’ll need to have sticky fingers for a bit,” you answer, still focused on trying to figure out where to go.

 

“Your words hold no meaning to me,” Thor tells you, irritated with his own lack of understanding.

 

You sigh, realizing you should’ve just left him in the hospital.

 

“I’m _saying_ we’ll have to steal some clothes, or steal some money,” you reply bluntly, stepping through the parking lot towards the city street. “Unless you can think of something better. Look, we can talk about that later. For now, let’s get out of here. There’s an alley across the street. If we can get to it, you can hang back until I find you something less ridiculous to parade around in. Just come o-”

 

_Slam!_

You whirl around in shock just in time to see the back of a vehicle knock Thor’s legs out from under him. He goes down, his breath leaving him as the SUV comes to an abrupt stop.

 

“Shit!” you swear, your eyes going wide.

 

“How?” Thor groans as you rush towards him. “How does this happen _again_?”

 

Three of the vehicle’s doors fly open as you pull Thor into sitting position. The both of you find yourselves staring at a group of people you never thought you'd see again.

 

_Shit._

 

“I'm so, so sorry!” Jane exclaims, hand over her mouth. “I _swear_ I’m not doing that on purpose!”

 

“What the hell?” you state as Erik grabs a hold of Thor’s shoulder to help him to his feet.

 

“I can't _believe_ you hit him again,” Darcy comments, repressed laughter in her tone.

 

“I'm fine, I'm fine,” Thor insists, brushing Erik off as he turns to Jane. “No worries, my lady. I know it wasn't purposeful.”

 

Your eyebrows come together when you see the slight blush that warms Jane’s cheeks. “What are you guys doing back here?” you ask, glancing over towards the hospital doors.

 

“We…. We came back for you two, actually,” Jane answers, subtly fixing her hair and refocusing. “I have questions.”

 

“Well, can you ask them somewhere else?” you say hesitantly, seeing a security guard through the hospital’s glass doors. “We’re kind of in a rush, here.”

 

Selvig turns to see what you're looking at, and then his eyes travel to Thor’s garb. “Ah. I see.”

 

“If we take you somewhere safe, can I have my answers?” Jane asks boldly.

 

“They're looking this way,” Darcy mumbles, her eyes also going to the hospital entrance.

 

“Yes, of course,” Thor replies before you can get a word in otherwise.

 

“Alright, pile in!” Jane states hurriedly, hopping back into the SUV.

 

\---

 

“So, uh, this is a lab?” you ask, stepping out of the car and viewing the building in front of you. “Because it doesn’t look like a lab.”

 

“It's our… makeshift lab,” Darcy tells you, shrugging as she heads for the front door.

 

The building appears old, the sign reading “Smith Motors” missing a few letters. You follow the group, peering through the large glass doors and windows to find that, sure enough, lab equipment is set up all around the large, central room. Jane fumbles with the keys, and you realize she’s nervous. Or excited. Or both.

 

“Here we are,” the woman states, successfully unlocking the door and stepping inside. “Hang on, and I’ll find some clothes for… um… you,” she continues, nodding her head towards Thor and walking through the “lab” portion of the room.

 

You survey everything, doing your best to get your bearings. Past the lab seems to be a newly-installed kitchenette, with a small dining table opposite of the appliances. Upon closer inspection, you realize that the installation may be new, but the household gadgets themselves are second hand at best.

 

“Welcome to home, sweet home,” Darcy tells the two of you, setting her things down on one of the lab tables.

 

“An odd sort of home, isn’t it?” Thor says to you, looking around with his eyebrows up.

 

“I’d move that bag before Jane sees,” Erik comments to Darcy, taking a seat as he waits. “She’ll be back at any moment.”

 

Darcy rolls her eyes, but does as he suggests, moving the bag in question to the floor instead.

 

“Do you guys sleep here?” you ask curiously, noting that there’s side rooms that branch off to other areas of the building.

 

“There’s a couple back rooms,” Darcy informs you, shrugging. “I’ve got a cot in one. Jane sleeps out in her RV.”

 

“RV?” Thor asks, turning to her.

 

“Yeah…? Uh, I think it stands for ‘Recreational Vehicle’. Or something like that,” Darcy replies. “It’s basically a home on wheels,” she adds when Thor’s expression continues to remain confused.

 

“Here we are,” Jane says, walking back into the room. She hands Thor a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. “I think it’s best you change first.”

 

“Very well,” he answers, accepting the clothes.

 

“Not in here,” you interject quickly when Thor goes to untie the hospital gown.

 

“You can use that storage room,” Jane offers, pointing to it. “Or the bathroom’s over that way, down the hall.”

 

“This will suffice,” Thor replies, smiling at her as he heads towards the back room.

 

“I’m not sure if my clothes will fit you,” Jane says, and you turn to find her watching you uncomfortably. “But you can try these on.”

 

“Oh. Thanks. Really, I mean it,” you tell her, taking the shirt and jeans. “I’ll wait until he’s done.”

 

“Oh, he’s almost done,” Darcy says, and you turn to find that Thor has not closed the door to the room he’s changing in. “You know, for a crazy lunatic, he’s pretty cut,” the intern muses.

 

“Dear God,” you mutter, shaking your head.

 

When he’s finally dressed, the god of thunder looks almost human. He’s left the hospital gown on the floor, and returns to the main area with an upbeat expression.

 

“Sticker on your shirt,” you comment, poking it as you pass him.

 

Jane immediately goes red as Thor looks down at his chest to find the words “HELLO, MY NAME IS: Dr. Donald Blake” on the front of his shirt.

 

“Sorry,” Jane tells him, ripping the sticker off and crumpling it quickly. “My ex. They were, uh, the only clothes I had that would fit you.”

 

“A little tight,” Thor replies, shifting his shoulders. “But acceptable.”

 

You can still hear their conversation as you change, and Jane’s next question makes you pull the blue jeans on even faster.

 

“You’re welcome, I guess. So tell me…. What were you doing in _that_?”

 

She has to be talking about the storm. _Don’t do it, you bastard,_ you think, hastily pulling Jane’s shirt on.

 

“What do you mean? What does anyone do in the Bifrost but stand and wait?” Thor answers, and you forgo lacing up your boots to rush out to the main room.

 

“Bifrost…?” Jane says softly, confused and intrigued as she flips open her notebook and carefully writes the word down.

 

“No, not like that,” Thor tells her, laughing as he comes up beside her. “With an ‘i’, not a ‘y’. A common mistake for the common tongue.”

 

Jane glances up at him, and then quickly closes her notebook.

 

“ _The_ Bifrost?” Erik’s tone is different – one of amused disbelief.

 

“You’ve got to remember, he’s been hit in the head _a lot_ lately,” you say in a rush, laughing. “Doubt he even knows what that word means.”

 

Thor turns to you, his lips parted in shock. “Warrior –”

 

“You know, I’m pretty hungry,” you say, ignoring him. “Is there any place to eat around here?”

 

This distracts Thor rather quickly, much to your relief. “I agree. This mortal form has grown weak. I require sustenance.”

 

You groan in your mind, but keep the smile plastered on your face. _You’re killing me, Thor._

 

It’s silent for a moment as the three humans look between the two of you. Jane realizes she isn’t going to get the answers she seeks as easily as she thought, and sighs.

 

“There’s always Isabela’s, I suppose,” Jane says aloud.

 

You’re mentally kicking yourself, remembering that neither you nor Thor have currency that can be used on Earth. “You know, never mind. We should probably be off, and we can grab something on the way. I left my wallet at home, so….”

 

“It’ll be our treat,” Jane says firmly, fixing you with a stubborn look that lets you know she doesn’t plan on letting either of you slip away without answers.

 

“See? It’s settled!” Thor tells you, thumping you on the back. “I’m famished.”

 

The room grows quiet as you glare up at him.

 

“I’ve got some Pop-Tarts,” Darcy offers.

 

\---

 

His feet echo in the Vault. Loki takes his time, surveying the objects that line the walls, as if he can convince himself that he’s not here for anything other than to look. But this is a lie.

 

His stomach pinches painfully as he steps up to the Casket, where it sits upon its pedestal. The blue glow emanating from the object is tantalizing, beckoning him to reach out….

 

He’s too tired to think, too tired to resist. He’s always been a man that demands answers, and this mystery is no different. And so, with hands that shake only slightly, he grasps the Casket by its handles, lifting it from its proper place.

 

The cold brings him no pain, just as when the Jotun had grabbed him. He stares at his hands intently, willing them to remain as they are. And yet…. There it is.

 

His skin shifts color before his eyes, as if the blue glow from the relic has leeched from its case and into his hands, his arms. The color bleeds throughout his body, a comfortable and welcoming chill settling in his very core.

 

And Loki Odinson is afraid.

 

“Stop!”

 

The call is familiar, a voice he’s known his whole life. He turns around towards his father, the Casket still clenched between his hands. The king watches him, holding Gungnir in his fist.

 

The sight of his son makes Odin’s heart ache with despair. The fierce, red eyes of Jotunheim stare at him from Loki’s face. His pale skin is now the color of ice, the marks of the Jotnar lacing their way across his angular visage.

 

“Am I cursed?”

 

His tone is fearful, his voice wavering. It further drives the knife of guilt in the Allfather’s chest. “No, Loki. Put the Casket down.”

 

Loki almost wants to disobey, but finds himself placing the relic back upon its stand. Once released, he watches as his skin reverts to its original color, the terrifying hue slowly giving way to white once more.

 

The two stand in silence for a long moment, until Loki finally turns again to Odin. “What am I?”

 

“You’re my son,” the Allfather answers with finality.

 

“Am I?” Loki asks softly, staring into his father’s eyes. “Are you certain? Because I… am not.”

 

Odin does not reply, which only makes Loki’s thoughts race faster. He looks to the Casket of Ancient Winters, and then back to the Allfather. “You won this from Jotunheim, did you not?”

 

“Yes,” Odin tells him quietly.

 

Loki waits a moment, and then asks, “Is that all you took?”

 

He’s met with silence.

 

The prince takes a step forward, staring into his father’s blue eye, and questions again, “ _Is that all you took_?”

 

Odin does not break from Loki’s gaze, and finally gives him the answer. “No.”

 

It’s as if Loki’s mind has frozen, his thoughts grinding to a halt. The word reverberates through his head, shattering everything he’d come to know and understand about himself.

 

Odin speaks, his words hoarse. “Among the wailing of the dying, I heard a different kind of cry. That of a baby, shrieking in their temple…. Within I found an infant, small for a giant’s offspring, abandoned to die. I guessed it to be days since anyone had tended to the child.” He swallows, watching the confusion and understanding fight for control on Loki’s face. “Laufey’s son.”

 

“L-Laufey’s son,” the prince repeats, the statement coming out higher than he’d intended. His eyes search the room, as if he can find some sort of respite from what he’s been told. He finally meets Odin’s gaze again, and says, “ _Why_?”

 

The Allfather knows what it is his son asks. “You were an innocent child.”

 

“Don’t – lie – to me,” he hisses, his eyes narrowing. “It’s always said the _Allfather_ does nothing without purpose. _What was it_? You took me. _Why_?”

 

Loki’s face is pale with rage, his green eyes stretched wide as he waits in the growing silence. Still, Odin says nothing, _nothing_.

 

“ ** _Tell me_**!”

 

The scream echoes loudly in the room, his anguish bouncing off the walls in a resounding cry that both begs and demands _answers_.

 

“I thought…” Odin says to him in the following quiet, “I thought our kingdoms could unite one day. A permanent alliance accompanied by a permanent peace... forged through you. But those plans no longer apply. They do not matter.”

 

“So I’m one of these, am I?” Loki says with tears in his eyes, almost laughing as he spreads his arms and gestures to the objects within Odin’s Vault. “Nothing more than a stolen relic, to sit upon my pedestal until you’ve a use for me.”

 

“Why must you twist my words so?” Odin questions wearily, using Gungnir to support his weight.

 

“You haven’t said ‘no’,” Loki answers, his voice trembling with fury. “Do I twist your words, _F_ _ather,_ or do I merely give voice to your own intentions? What fresh cruelty is this, to have me live a lie my entire life? You could’ve told me, you could’ve told me from the beginning! Why didn’t you?”

 

“You are my son,” Odin tells him, his throat tight. “My blood. I thought it best to shield you from the truth.”

 

“ _Why_?” Loki asks. “This is better, is it? Son of Odin, the _monster_ parents tell their children about at night.” He hesitates, a chill running down his spine. “I’m… I’m a monster.”

 

“Loki,” the Allfather tries to interject, but the enraged prince continues on as if he hasn’t heard.

 

“Oh, no, it all makes sense now. It all makes _sense_ ,” Loki states, and actually does let out a short, humorless laugh. “Why you favored Thor all these years. A _true_ son, that one. And what lies you fed me, what lies _I believed_!”

 

“Listen to me,” Odin tries to say, but again, his son ignores him.

 

“To tell me I had a chance to sit the throne! Is there no limit to your cruelty? Because we both know now, that no matter how much you claimed to _‘love’_ me, you could never have a _Frost Giant_ upon the throne of Asgard!”

 

It’s the first time he’s said it aloud, the first time he’s truly attributed the term to himself. It makes his stomach roil, and he clenches his fists. He makes for the exit, sweeping past his father (or rather, whatever the man is to him now).

 

“Loki!” Odin calls, a heavy weight settling quickly on his mind and chest.

 

The king cannot breathe, he cannot think. He is tired, as tired as he’s ever been. Odin feels as if the sky itself has fallen upon him, or as if something reaches and pulls at him, pulls him towards the depths of unconsciousness.

 

Loki almost continues on, but there’s something in the Allfather’s voice that gives him pause. He blinks, ensuring there are no tears of wrath to be mistaken for sentiment.

 

And then there is a sound, as if something has fallen. Gungnir clatters to the ground as Loki turns.

 

His eyes widen in surprise at the sight of Odin collapsed upon the floor. He stands for a moment in stunned silence before he takes careful steps forward and kneels by the king.

 

“Father?”

 

Odin’s eye does not open, and Loki places a hand to the man’s chest. His heart still beats. “Guards,” Loki says, his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. His throat is tight. It’s hard to form words. “Guards. GUARDS!”

 

He stares at Odin’s still face as footsteps sound in the hallway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loki and Reader are going to have to have an intense conversation now, aren't they?


	10. Setback

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which you realize Thor is an absolute embarrassment and should be removed from the galaxy.  
> ...  
> ...  
> ...  
> Oh, and also Loki has something to tell you.

You watch in embarrassed disbelief as Thor continues to shovel steak into his mouth, as if he is a ravenous animal. The waitress comes back around, eyeing the man uncertainly, and you sink down further in your seat.

 

“Uh, need anything else, honey?” she asks, her eyebrows raised.

 

“More eggs,” Thor decides, nodding at her and grinning before returning to his food.

 

“Stop ordering,” you hiss at him as the waitress walks away. “God, this is going to be so expensive.”

 

“They offered to pay,” Thor tells you, not bothering to keep his voice down. “Here, warrior, eat! You’ve yet to demand any food.”

 

He slides half of a pancake to you, the bread soggy with syrup. You glare at Thor, and shove the plate back at him. “You’re being an _ass_.”

 

Jane isn’t bothered by the bickering, her eyes flitting across her notebook pages. The sight of the little book makes you think of Will, who has yet to reply to you. You have faith in your friend and her abilities, but still, her continued silence makes you worry your lip.

 

Jane puts her pen to her mouth, and then glances at Thor. “So, ready to talk yet?” He looks up at her, still chewing, which is all the answer she needs. “Okay, perfect. So, what exactly happened to you both last night?”

 

“I mean, I don’t know. We were really drunk,” you pipe up, stepping lightly on Thor’s foot.

 

He’s still staring at Jane, his eyes locked with hers. She clears her throat and looks away, ignoring his gaze and your lie. “Maybe start with how you got inside that storm?”

 

“And how you could eat an entire box of Pop-Tarts,” Darcy states. “That was crazy. And you’re _still_ eating. Like, damn.”

 

“Not now, Darcy,” Jane says without looking away from Thor.

 

“Look, thanks for being so nice to us,” you say to the scientist, “but we don’t have anything to tell you. We were just at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

 

“Or the _right_ place at the _right_ time,” Jane retorts, fixing you with an intense gaze. “I’ve been studying this for _so long_. I’m know I’m close to an answer. And you know what? I’m just going to come out and say it: I don’t believe you both just _happened_ to be stumbling around ‘drunk’ last night.”

 

“Oh, Jane, come on, now,” Erik butts in, shaking his head. “Do you hear yourself?”

 

“Here’s those eggs,” the waitress says to Thor, walking up and setting the plate down.

 

“Fantastic!” he exclaims happily, making room in front of him for the new dish.

 

“Want me to get some of this out of your way?” the woman asks sweetly, reaching for one of the dirty plates.

 

“No, no,” Darcy says, causing the waitress to pull her hand back in surprise. The intern watches Thor as he starts on the eggs. “I want to see how many plates it ends up being,” she tells the waitress, who grimaces in response before walking away.

 

You groan, wishing you could disappear.

 

“Anyway, as I was saying –” Jane begins, but Thor sips from his mug and cuts her off.

 

“What is this glorious drink?” he questions, his eyebrows rising. “It is both bitter and sweet. I enjoy it.”

 

“It’s coffee,” you tell him, rolling your eyes.

 

“Great, isn’t it?” Darcy says to him, grinning. “Love me some coffee. Isabela makes a really great cup.”

 

“I’ll have another!” Thor calls to the woman behind the counter, and promptly smashes his cup on the ground.

 

You do everything within your power to resist punching him in the face again. Erik jumps visibly at the sound of shattering ceramic, and Darcy’s mouth falls open.

 

“Sorry, Izzy!” Jane tells the woman glaring at your company’s table. “He knocked it off the table!”

 

“Funny, the ones at home never smash in such a way,” Thor notes, amused.

 

“Why would you do that?” Jane asks, at last irritated with the man’s odd antics.

 

“I wanted more,” Thor tells her, as if this is obvious.

 

Jane looks to you for explanation, and for once, you have no lie to give. “He’s just… dumb,” you settle on. “Not a good people person.”

 

“That’s simply not true!” Thor rebuffs, lifting his chin and shooting you a withering glare. “My people _love_ me!”

 

The bell on the restaurant door chimes, distracting you for a moment, and two men enter. The owner of the establishment greets them by name, and as they take a seat, one calls out to her. “You missed all the excitement at the crater, Isabela!”

 

Jane and Selvig lock eyes, and then turn towards the man that had spoken.

 

“What crater?” Isabela questions as she wipes down the front counter.

 

Your interest is piqued as well, although Thor remains unconcerned and continues to eat his eggs. The second man speaks up through a yawn. “Some kind of satellite crashed in the desert.”

 

“Yeah,” the first man agrees. “It was all fun and games until the Feds showed up. They’ve got a little camp set up around it now. Said the thing was radioactive.”

 

“Excuse me, but could you tell me what the satellite looked like?” Jane cuts in, smiling kindly at the strangers.

 

The men exchange glances and then the initial speaker says, “Looked like a hammer to me, huh, Pete?”

 

Thor stops chewing, his fork falling from his hand.

 

“Right,” Pete agrees, nodding. “Real heavy-like. No one could lift it.”

 

Thor looks to you in absolute euphoria, and then quickly rises from the table and faces the men. “Where did it land?!”

 

“Uh, twelve miles east of here.”

 

Thor grabs your arm, pulling you from your seat and towards the front door. “We must go at once!”

 

“Let go,” you tell him, your voice deadly, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

 

“Wait!” Jane exclaims, getting to her feet quickly as Erik and Darcy follow suit. “Where are you going?”

 

“Twelve miles east of here!” Thor replies happily, turning briefly back to them.

 

That’s when it hits you. It’s as if a cold fire has erupted in your core, angry and frightened and _distraught_. You can’t stop your gasp, and you reach around to grip Thor’s forearm tightly.

 

“That hurts!” he tells you, but you barely hear him.

 

Thor tries to shake your grip, but when he looks at you, the expression on your face makes him freeze. He ignores the three mortals, who babble at the two of you in confusion, and says, “What has happened? Is it my brother?”

 

“What? What do you mean?” Jane asks, but neither of you bother to reply.

 

“What did he say?” Thor demands, trying again to pry your fingers from his arm.

 

“He won’t answer me,” you tell Thor, doing your best not to panic. “Something’s wrong. Bad wrong. I’ve got to go.”

 

“Go?” Darcy asks, and you finally register the group’s presence.

 

“To… uh… the bathroom,” you amend, your hands shaking as you let go of Thor’s arm.

 

_Fucking answer me, Loki._

“ _Wait_!” Thor calls after you as you rush towards the diner’s restroom.

 

You don’t stop, thinking solely about the fact that you _must_ get out of sight. And quickly.

 

_What’s happening? Are you dying? **Answer** **me**!_

You slam the bathroom door closed behind you and immediately hold out your hand. Slipping into the darkness – into the odd, alternate space – has never been hard for you. So you’re therefore momentarily distracted from the chaos in your mind when you realize that… nothing appears before your outstretched hand.

 

“What?” you whisper, your eyes going wide.

 

You try again, flexing your fingers towards the middle of the room. To your utter confusion, your hand slightly glows with light. And still… nothing happens.

 

 _Light_?

 

You quickly cycle through your abilities – fire dances in your palm, darkness swirls around your hands. There are no problems here. Again, you try to open a rift, a way back to Asgard.

 

Thor pounds on the door, calling your name angrily. You jerk the door open, tears coming unwanted to your eyes. “I can’t get back.”

 

The statement silences him at once. “What?”

 

“I can’t get back. Something’s wrong, and he won’t answer me, and I can’t get back to Asgard. We’re stuck here, Thor. We’re _really_ stuck here.”

 

\---

 

Inside the Allfather’s chambers, there is a certain heaviness in the air. The bed’s golden canopy is pulled, obscuring the figure within, save for on one side. There sits Odin’s wife and son, who watch the slumbering king. Frigga Allmother takes her husband’s hand, leans over, and softly kisses his cheek.

 

“Throughout our years together, there were many times I advised him to be honest with you,” the queen says softly. “Even from the beginning, I asked it of him.”

 

“And why did he not heed you?” Loki questions, his voice hushed as well.

 

Frigga can hear the pain hidden in his words. She turns to her son, willing him to understand. “He did not want you to ever feel different. To feel like you didn't belong. You are _ours_ , Loki. We are your family, and nothing can change that.”

 

The prince remains silent, his gaze fixed upon Odin’s face. Frigga knows her son’s thoughts are busy, that his mind is somewhere else. “He can still see and hear us. You can speak to him, if you wish,” the queen says.

 

Loki blinks. “How long will it last?”

 

“I'm not certain,” Frigga replies quietly after a moment. “Hopefully he will wake tomorrow. The Sleep can last no longer than a day, or stretch on for more than a week. Although….” She takes a steadying breath. “He's been putting it off. I'm… I'm worried he will not wake this time.”

 

Loki’s gaze flickers to his mother, his eyes softening. He takes her hand gently, offering what comfort he is able to give. The queen looks up at him, grateful.

 

“We mustn't lose hope,” she says. “Your father and brother will return to us, yet.”

 

“You hold on to hope for Thor?” Loki asks.

 

“I do,” Frigga replies, squeezing his hand. “I have hope for both of my sons.”

 

He stares at his mother’s fingers, his eyes tired. She studies his features, and then takes his other hand as well. As if she can hear his thoughts, she whispers, “Loki, I _am_ your mother.”

 

“You're mother to all,” he quips softly, a ghost of a smile twisting his lips for a brief second.

 

“But you are my _son_ ,” she says to him. “Do not doubt a mother’s love.”

 

“You would love something such as me?” he asks her, his voice tight.

 

“Oh, my boy,” Frigga replies, her eyes shining with unshed tears as she stares at him. He finally looks up at her, and she gives him a small, warm smile. “I have _always_ loved you, from the very first moment I held you in my arms.”

 

\---

 

You retch again into the toilet, although nothing comes up. You can't handle the things you feel, the anxiety and turmoil. It's too much. You hear voices in the main lab area, although you find you don't particularly care what Jane, Darcy, and Erik are talking about (or rather, arguing over, judging from the tone).

 

“We’ve got to get Mjolnir,” Thor tells you from the hall, pacing back and forth outside the open bathroom door. “I can reclaim my powers, and request to return home. It will prove my worth to Father. Once this is done, Heimdall will _not_ ignore us again…. We looked like utter fools.”

 

You groan in response without saying anything. Thor steps up to the door frame and leans in. “Are you alright yet, warrior? Have you any word?”

 

“I said I'd tell you when I knew,” you reply crossly, holding your stomach.

 

You know it's bad if Loki’s emotions are making you hurl. You hate vomiting; you despise it almost more than anything else. Just the fact that you've thrown up more times in the past few days than you have in half a year is enough to make you scowl.

 

However, you take a small comfort in the fact that if you can still feel the link between you and the prince… then he isn't dead.

 

“Why would he shut you out?” Thor asks again, returning to his pacings.

 

“I don't know,” you snarl, shakily getting to your feet.

 

“– the words of raving lunatics!”

 

It's Erik’s voice, and it makes Thor look up towards the main room.

 

“Just leave it,” you advise, flipping on the faucet so you can rinse your mouth.

 

Thor casts you a glance, sighs, and then walks away. You groan and lean over the sink, hanging your head.

 

_I need you._

 

The sentence makes you jump, your heart beating quickly in response. There is a desperation in his voice that causes your grip to tighten on the cold porcelain beneath your fingers. _Loki!_ You think to him, realizing you can’t decide whether you’re more relieved or angry. _Where the **hell** have you **been**? What's going on?!_

_It’s… too much. I need you here, please. These things should be discussed face to face._

You look up at the mirror, staring at your reflection. You're not sure what to ask or say first. You swallow hard and clear your throat, although the only question you give voice to is within your mind. _Why did you shut me out?_

There's a couple beats of silence, and then he responds, _I… needed time to settle my thoughts before I shared them. That's another matter entirely. Where are you?_

The tone of his words waver, and you can tell he's shaken. You take a deep breath and then slowly let it out, deciding to let that fight settle on the backburner. There are more important issues at hand. _I’m stuck here, Loki._

It's quiet. You can hear Thor talking loudly in the other room.

 

_You're refusing to come home?_

You shake your head, although you know he cannot see you. _No. I'm saying I **can't** get back. Something's wrong with me. Something's stopping me from coming back._

_And is that ‘something’ your friend, perhaps? Or maybe my **brother**?_

You glare at your own reflection. _No, moron. My powers. I can't jump worlds anymore._

You can hear the disdain in his voice when he answers. _Of course._

_You don't believe me?_ you growl darkly.

 

 _What does it matter?_ he asks, sounding increasingly apathetic.

_What's going on?!_ you question hotly. _You tell me right fucking now what's happening, or so help me, I'm going to **lose** **my** **shit**. Damn it, Loki, I’d come to you if I could!_

There's a hesitation in his next statement. _If you could? You honestly cannot return?_

_I'm not lying to you, you idiot,_ you hiss. _I have no idea how we’re going to get back. Heimdall won't open the bridge. Trust me. Thor and I both tried. I'm stuck on **Earth** with your dumbass brother. Something's wrong with my power. I… I don't know what to do._

And a laugh echoes in your mind, one of no humor. _Oh, that makes two of us, darling._

You shake your head again, unable to look your reflection in the eye. He’s quiet for a moment, and then continues. _I need to see you. I’ll find a way this evening. I swear it._

 

\---

 

Jerrik slices a careful gash into his arm, watching as blood drips upon the rune he’s marked on the floor. The candle sitting in front of the etching suddenly flickers to life, and the sorcerer immediately places his hand in the center of the drawing.

 

Things are going splendidly for the Asgardian traitor. Thor is banished, the foreigners are gone, and now he’s heard word that Odin has fallen into the Sleep. It’s all marvelous, absolutely marvelous.

 

He's temporarily stopped your ability to bring the prince back, yes, but now he needs something else. A more… _permanent_ solution. The power of the rune helps to stretch his mind, his abilities. He searches for the being he read about, the one detailed in the scattered notes left behind in the destroyed Ordinat base.

 

He searches for the Hunter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate Title: Loki Odinson: Prince of Asgard, God of Lies, and Mama's Boy


	11. Research

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who has two thumbs and time to write today?
> 
> It's me. :)

The argument is still waging as you walk into the main room. Thor is trying his best to explain everything to Jane, and Erik is just not having it.

 

“Children’s stories, Jane!” Erik says loudly. “He's delusional!”

 

“I am NOT!” Thor exclaims, glaring at the scientist. “ _Listen_ to me, mortal fools! I must reclaim Mjolnir immediately!”

 

“Myeu-muh?” Darcy questions, tongue tripping over the foreign word.

 

“My war hammer,” Thor explains quickly.

 

“Of course!” Erik states. “Of course ‘Thor’ would need his ‘hammer Mjolnir’! And then you’ll just hop onto the Bifrost again, I’d imagine?”

 

“That’s the idea, yes!” Thor answers, relieved that Selvig understands.

 

The scientist turns towards the other two women in exasperation. “Jane, he's clearly living out a false reality within his mind! These are nothing more than children’s fables! Old mythologies!”

 

“But… but he was _there,_ Erik,” Jane says, although the assurance in her voice doesn’t sound nearly as strong anymore. “Look at this! He’s promised us answers!”

 

She strides to one of the boards set up around the lab, and yanks a picture from it. Erik waves his hand dismissively before Jane can bring it to him. “I’ve seen the photograph! That doesn’t change a thing!”

 

“To just drive them out there wouldn’t be –” Jane begins, but Erik shakes his head.

 

“Now you're making less sense than _him_ ,” he tells her, genuinely concerned. “You don't want to get involved any more than you already are.”

 

“Warrior!” Thor calls, turning on his heel. He stops a moment, seemingly surprised to find you standing at the back of the room. He recovers quickly, and starts marching towards you. “Show them!”

 

“Show them what, Thor?” you ask, your stomach bottoming out.

 

“Show them what you can do,” he says quickly, coming up to you and taking your arm to pull you towards the group. “Then, they will help us.”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you tell him, shaking your head and staring at him intensely. _Get with the program, Thor._ “What I can _do_?”

 

“It’s not hurting anything to have them around, Erik!” Jane interjects, and the two begin to argue once more.

 

“Do not play dumb!” Thor says to you, exasperated. “Prove to them that my words are grounded in truth!”

 

“I can’t do that,” you hiss under your breath, casting a quick glance towards the others in the room. Only Darcy looks your way. “You’ve got to trust me, okay? When you go to other worlds, especially mundane ones, you don’t just go around doing… _things_ like that. And _scientists_? Those are the _last_ people you’d _ever_ want to show something crazy to, okay? We can’t trust them.”

 

“They are good people, and you should treat them as such!” Thor says loudly, not bothering to keep his voice down.

 

“ _There’s_ _no_ _such_ **_thing_** _as_ _good_ _people_!”

 

Your outburst makes his eyebrows rise and his lips part slightly in shock.

 

“Jane, enough,” Erik states into the following silence. “Don’t do this. It’s dangerous. _They’re_ dangerous.”

 

Jane worries her lip, thinking hard. She finally sighs, and locks eyes with Thor. “I’m sorry. I can’t take you.”

 

Thor seems to deflate right in front of you. His shoulders sag slightly as he nods his head. “I understand, Lady Jane. We... will find another way. I suppose this is where we say goodbye.”

 

He reaches Jane in two strides and takes her hand, bringing it to his lips for a light kiss. Thor then turns to Darcy and Erik, inclining his head to each. “Farewell, Jane Foster, Erik Selvig, and Darcy. May the fates smile upon you.”

 

“That’s… thank you,” Jane says after a moment, which prompts a last smile from the blond man.

 

Thor turns to you, and gestures to the door. You can tell he's slightly cross with you, but still he says, “Let’s be off, then.”

 

“You’re so dramatic,” you mutter, shaking your head. “See you guys,” you add to the group of three as you walk out of the building.

 

You hear Thor follow you, although he doesn’t seem too keen on catching up to you anytime soon. You glance over your shoulder to see his eyes downcast, his feet dragging.

 

“Hey, you coming, or what?” you ask him loudly.

 

“They think we are liars and fools,” Thor tells you as he walks, shooting you a glare. “Why did you not back my words?”

 

“I told you already,” you reply slowly. “You said you'd been to Earth before, and they worshiped you or some shit?”

 

“Of course,” Thor states, nodding.

 

“Yeah, forget all about that,” you tell him. “Look, I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings or whatever. But I'm not about to be locked away and poked and prodded while people try to figure out how I do the things I do. Especially now that I can't….”

 

You flex your fingers nervously, the glow still present when you once more try to open a rift. You take a deep breath and let it out before looking over at Thor. “Let’s just focus, alright? Forget about them. We’re not going to get your hammer back by sulking.”

 

“Yes,” Thor agrees, his confidence rising at the thought of reclaiming Mjolnir. “Yes. We must be off, and quickly. We need horses.”

 

“That’s going to be a no-go on the horses,” you state, shaking your head at him in exasperation. “You’ve ridden in a vehicle, Thor. Have you _seen_ any horses around here? No. No, we need a car.”

 

“Then we must appropriate one at once,” he tells you.

 

You raise your eyebrows at him. “Hey, now you’re getting it!”

 

The two of you walk in silence a stretch as you keep an eye out for a way to ‘appropriate’ a working vehicle.

 

“You spoke with my brother,” Thor states knowingly into the silence. “What did he say to you?”

 

“What makes you think that?” you ask cautiously.

 

“Just… how you are,” he answers, gesturing to you. “Now, tell me.”

 

“A ‘please’ would be nice,” you reply, rolling your eyes and ignoring the anxious rise of your heartbeat. “And he said he’d explain things later. Wants to do it face to face, although I don’t see how that’s possible. Said he’ll be spending the rest of the day figuring out why I can’t jump worlds anymore.”

 

“Loki is a cunning man,” Thor says, intrigued. “Perhaps he will have a plan to bring us home. But what of the dread you felt earlier? Were you mistaken?”

 

“I mean, _I_ don’t think so,” you answer, looking away from Thor uncertainly. “Something happened. He just hasn't told me yet.”

 

“Maybe he won't,” Thor says, shrugging.

 

You're surprised at how much the sentence bothers you. “Whatever. Doesn't matter either way.” You roll your shoulders, and then look over at Thor. “So, uh, which way are we going again? East?”

 

And as the two of you stand talking, you miss the line of black, government vehicles making their way towards Smith Motors.

 

\---

 

“I’m sorry, my lord,” Hammond states, shaking his head. “She’s too far. I cannot reach her as you can.”

 

“Then what use _are_ you?” Loki replies vehemently, glaring at the other man. “If you can’t help, then get out. Bring me the book I asked for. Apparently, you’re good for nothing more than fetching.”

 

Hammond’s cheeks flush with a mixture of indignation and embarrassment. He dips his head. “Yes, sire.”

 

Loki is aware that he’s taking out his anger on the man, but he’s beyond caring at the moment. Hammond leaves the study quickly, fearing he’ll hear the prince call after him. Loki looks up briefly when the door closes, and then returns to the book in his hands.

 

He’s exhausted. Frigga had suggested he rest when he left her side, and he had told her he would. But after conversing with you, he’d forgone sleep and immediately made his way to his sorcerer’s guild. What you had told him was unsettling, and he’s sure some sort of magic is the cause.

 

He has books and scrolls scattered across his table in the guild’s study, all detailing what is known about magical suppression. The magic is rare, but not unheard of. However, he continues to find no true explanation that fits your current situation. How had someone targeted a single ability? Had they simply lacked the power to suppress the others? But most importantly… what is the purpose of this attack? Who had done it, and why?

 

These questions without answers concern him in a different way, and they silence the others that attempt to rise within his mind. The god of trickery is aware that he’s using this as a diversion, so that he will not think upon his own… situation. He is content to remain purposefully distracted.

 

After all, your plight is a part of his personal troubles, too, as far as he’s concerned.

 

\---

 

“You are the one that called us?”

 

The voice is low and gravely, as if it is hard for the man to form words. Jerrik stares at the being in the illusion before him. He refuses to let his nerves show, although there's a bead of sweat that trickles down the back of his neck.

 

The sorcerer wets his lips. “Yes. It was me. I have a job for you.”

 

The figure he sees is about the size of a man, although it is hard to discern any defining features. He's covered from head to toe in clothing: a long, black trench coat, a dark undershirt, scuffed boots, wide hands within leather gloves. Around his neck is a blood-red scarf, which is large enough to cover the bottom half of the Hunter’s face. The rim of his black hat curves low on his forehead, although tufts of ginger hair can still be seen.

 

The man’s eyes are hidden behind a pair of glasses, the round lenses appearing black. Light is reflected within, as if the being gazes into a fire.

 

“A _job_?” the Hunter asks in disdain. “You want us to do a job?”

 

“Yes,” Jerrik replies, sounding as assured as possible. “I’ve heard the tales of you and your beasts, Hunter. I know the kind of work you did for the Ordinat. I require your skills. I'd imagine you're free for hire now, aren't you?”

 

The illusion of the Hunter stares at Jerrick, the dark glasses seeming like two black holes in the man’s face. “The Ordinat are gone now, yeah. But you mistake me for a man for hire. We do what we want, now.”

 

“And if I could make you want to do this?” Jerrick questions offhandedly, pursing his lips. “What then?”

 

“How so?” the Hunter questions, not sounding nearly as intrigued as Jerrick had hoped for.

 

The sorcerer waves his hand, and an image appears beside him. The Hunter freezes, his breath catching in his throat. Behind his glasses, his eyes are locked onto the illusion.

 

“You can do that?” he asks, unable to remove his gaze from what he sees. “You can… you can fix me?”

 

“I can,” Jerrik promises. “If you do what I ask.”

 

The silence is thick as both men regard one another. Eventually, the Hunter dips his head and runs a gloved hand across the rim of his hat. “If you cross me once this is done… know that we’ll kill you. We’re _very_ good at it.”

 

“I am aware,” Jerrik replies tersely, another drop of sweat making its way down his neck and into his robe. “I know of your skills, Hunter. Am I to understand that you accept the job?”

 

“Yes,” the other man growls.

 

“Good,” Jerrik answers, nodding. “I will provide you with what is needed upon your arrival. I must bring you here first. When can you be ready?”

 

The man’s red scarf shifts as he lets out a sharp whistle. There's shuffling and heavy breathing from behind him, as if a group of animals or beasts have answered his call.

 

“We’re ready now.”

 

\---

 

“It's the fates punishing us,” Thor groans, shaking his head. “We shouldn't have done it.”

 

You kick the side of the car, denting the metal with your boot. “Shut the _fuck_ up. You didn't say shit about it when we took it, so I don't want to hear it.”

 

You can't figure out why the car quit, and you're through wasting time poking around under the hood. You're no mechanic, and Thor filling you in on his ideas of karma haven't been of any help at all.

 

You brush hair out of your face and let out a huff of breath. “How far are we, do you think?”

 

“Still at least seven miles, by my estimate,” Thor says, grimacing. “Quite the walk, whether we forge on or turn back.”

 

“Damn it,” you curse, shaking your head. “Fuck this. Let's just start walking, I guess. We can follow the road.”

 

“I concur,” Thor replies, nodding.

 

You scowl up at the sun, narrowing your eyes. “Is it winter here or not? It was cold in Asgard, freezing in Jotunheim.”

 

“The realm of Frost Giants is always frozen,” Thor states, his face tensing at the thought of all that had occurred there.

 

You glance over at him. “Yeah, well still.”

 

Thor frowns, staring at the sands that stretch on either side of the road. “I should never have been cast out.”

 

“Okay, know what else you shouldn't have done? Called the king of Asgard – _your_ _dad –_ a fool.”

 

Thor glares over at you. “Who are you to lecture me? I have heard your impudent speech, warrior. You're no eloquent silvertongue yourself.”

 

Even when it’s not attributed to Loki, the word makes you grimace and look away.

 

Your companion notices. “Everything’s still alright? You’ve heard nothing else?”

 

“Nope,” you answer, the ‘p’ in the word popping louder than you meant it to.

 

You hear a rumble behind you, and glance over your shoulder to see another vehicle coming up. “We should get off the road.”

 

“But we could use their assistance,” Thor answers, his brow furrowed as he surveys the oncoming car.

 

“I doubt they’ll stop. And if they do, that's probably a bad sign. I'm sure the hospital reported you missing.”

 

“Are you really so cynical?” Thor questions, recalling your earlier statement in regards to ‘good people’ (or the lack thereof).

 

“I'm cynical, yeah. And I'm still alive, which I definitely shouldn't be. I think there's a correlation there,” you state dryly.

 

Just then, before Thor can reply, you both hear the sound of the vehicle pulling up beside you on the road. To your utmost displeasure, it slows to a stop.

 

“Hey!”

 

You look over, your eyebrows going up as Thor’s expression shifts to one of excitement. “Lady Jane!” he calls.

 

“Still need a lift?” Jane asks, nervously returning his grin as she leans out the window of the SUV.

 

\---

 

_Any luck yet?_

Loki blinks, lifting his head from his hands. He’s surprised to find he’d almost dozed off. Your statement quickly brings him back to the current situation, and he refocuses on the papers in front of him. _Unfortunately… no. Have there been any changes?_

_Not yet. Still the same glowing thing happening if I try to leave. We’re working on getting Thor’s hammer back. Guess it ended up here as well._

Loki raises an eyebrow, remembering the words his father – no, _Odin_ – had muttered before hurling Mjolnir to Midgard after its owner. _Interesting. And how is that going?_

_Well. We found where it landed, and there’s government people all over the place. We’re waiting until nightfall. Of course, Thor was against it, but we talked him out of going in broad daylight._

Loki snorts, making Hammond look over at him nervously. _Of course the boar would just want to rush in. Who is accompanying the two of you? You said ‘we’._

_This woman named Jane. She’s one of the astro… the uh… the scientists that ran over Thor yesterday. Honestly, it’s annoying. I think he’s into her._

_Charming,_ Loki states, rolling his eyes. _Regardless, I intend to fetch you soon._

_We’ve been over this,_ you mutter. He sees flashes of Willow’s face within his mind, and narrows his eyes at the book in his hands as you continue. _I still haven’t heard from Will. I’m not sure what’s going on, but I hope she’s okay._

_I’m sure she’s fine,_ Loki replies, annoyed. _If it means that much to you, we can retrieve her as well._

_And Thor?_

Loki doesn’t answer right away. _I cannot reverse his banishment. Odin left him to his own devices, and so shall I._

_That’s some shit and you know it._

He closes his book. _We can discuss this later in the evening. I’ll be around soon, fates permitting._

_Sounds like you might not come._

_Oh, is that longing I hear?_

_Fuck you, Loki._

_I’m counting on it, darling._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, the joys of being separated....


	12. Mjolnir

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BROTRIP COMMENCE  
> FIGHTING COMMENCE
> 
> And
> 
> SPECIAL ANNOUNCEMENT:
> 
> *clears throat*  
> *announcer voice*  
> Do you like your OSE/ODE fic-best friend, Willow?  
> Do YOU like Captain America?  
> DO YOU LIKE READER-INSERTS?  
> Well, you're in luck! Check out [ShootingStarSojourner](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ShootingStarSojourner)'s fic ["To Walk Together"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10797177/chapters/23950953) to read a different side of the story!  
> :)

Sif strikes wildly at Fandral again, her anger getting the best of her.

 

“Easy, woman!” Fandral exclaims, eyes wide as he blocks her. “You’re like to take my arm off if you aren’t careful!”

 

Sif doesn’t apologize. She backs up a bit, and lets out a breath. “But you _did_ say not to go easy on you.”

 

“Yes, but that didn’t mean wound him again,” Volstagg calls out. “What bothers you, Sif?”

 

“Nothing,” she states, shaking her head.

 

“It’s what bothers us all, Volstagg,” Hogun comments from the sidelines, frowning.

 

He is correct, of course. Sif and the Warriors Three have all been doing their best to keep busy. Continuing their training and normal routines feels odd without Thor, but it’s still _something_ they have control over. Everything else in life seems rather chaotic at this point.

 

Sif turns towards the palace. It is hard to believe the Allfather rests soundly within his chambers, while his son spends his evening on Midgard.

 

“I think that’s quite enough for this evening,” Fandral says quietly, sheathing his weapon. “Let’s be off, shall we?”

 

“Aye, let’s,” Volstagg agrees, and then the three men begin to head for the feast hall.

 

Fandral notices Sif does not accompany them, and turns towards her. “Are you coming?”

 

The woman stands alone on the training grounds in the dimming light, her back to the others. “I don’t feel up to it. I’ll practice a bit more, and then rest.”

 

Fandral and Volstagg seem as if they’re going to retort, but Hogun silences them with a look. He knows the lack of Thor’s booming voice in the feast hall will only make the absence of the missing prince even more apparent.

 

“We’re here if you need us, you know,” Fandral comments.

 

“I know, friends,” Sif replies.

 

“Very well,” Volstagg finally says into the silence, and the three continue on their way, leaving Sif to her thoughts.

 

\---

 

You're thankful when the sun finally sets. You’ve been sitting in the backseat of Jane’s SUV for far too long, and no matter which way you sprawl, you can’t get comfortable.

 

Jane and Thor have been talking almost nonstop from the moment she picked the two of you up. You can tell she still doesn’t _quite_ believe the things he’s said (what sane person would?), but you were done trying to get him to keep his mouth shut. Every once in a while, Thor had looked back at you for confirmation of an event, and you had just rolled your eyes.

 

The scientist, on the other hand, informed the two of you that an agency known as S.H.I.E.L.D. raided their lab soon after your departure. She was still very heated about the event, explaining that they confiscated all of her data on the electromagnetic storms and anomalies. You figure this is why she went after the two of you – having the government come in and take years of hard work and data collection is _very_ suspicious.

 

It makes you nervous. Why had they done that? And what do they know? You’d told Thor the worst people to show powers or abilities to were scientists, but you realize that isn’t necessarily true. The _absolute_ _worst_ is the government.

 

As Jane detailed what occurred, Thor hanging on to every word, you had glanced into the back of the vehicle to find that the agency had even gutted the SUV; all of Jane’s machines are missing. You almost feel bad for her.

 

“Is it dark enough to advance? They’ve lights set up around the crater. I can see them even from here,” Thor comments, bringing you back to the present.

 

“Yeah, we should be good,” you agree, stretching and opening the car door.

 

“I’ve never done anything like this before,” Jane states, getting out of the SUV as well. She seems both nervous and excited, worrying her lip as she locks her car. “Have either of you?”

 

“You heard my stories, Lady Jane,” Thor tells her, grinning. “Many a time have we had ventures such as these. Although, not without other company.”

 

“Got that right,” you mutter, rolling your eyes. “You sure you want to be a part of this?” you add to Jane, louder.

 

“They just stole my entire life’s work. I’ve got nothing left to lose,” the woman says, meeting your gaze.

 

“I knew you were clever, but I was unaware of your bravery,” Thor states, giving her an approving smile.

 

Jane’s cheeks flush, and you heave a sigh. “Get your head out of your ass, Thor, we’ve got places to be. Let’s go.”

 

You step towards the camp that the government – or S.H.I.E.L.D., as Jane calls them – has set up. It’s quite a walk from your current position, as your group hadn’t wanted to draw attention to a lone vehicle sitting in the desert _too_ near the crater. Thor continues his conversation with Jane as the three of you start the trek.

 

“Do you think us strange, Lady Jane?” he asks, genuinely curious.

 

“What makes you say that?” the scientist replies.

 

“Your colleague thinks so,” Thor answers, “and yet here you are.”

 

Jane lets out a short laugh. “Yes, I do. Just a little. Not as much as Erik.”

 

“Oh, I believe it,” you comment from up ahead.

 

“Who are you guys? Really?” Jane asks.

 

“Ah, still you do not believe me,” Thor laments, shaking his head. “But it matters not. You’ll see soon enough.”

 

“Right,” Jane says after a moment. “Sure. God, I hope you’re not crazy.”

 

“Okay, time to shut up, guys,” you speak up, narrowing your eyes as you near the ridge. “They’ve got a fence set up now.”

 

“This isn’t a satellite crash,” Jane informs the two of you, excited that her suspicions were correct. “They would’ve hauled the object away, not built a city around it.”

 

“Unless they could not move it,” Thor replies, beaming. “Stay back, Lady Jane. Once I reclaim Mjolnir, I will return what they have stolen from you.”

 

“Thor, we don’t have time for that,” you hiss, but your words fall upon deaf ears.

 

“You two really think you can just walk in, grab our stuff, and walk out? Erik was right. You really are mad,” Jane realizes. “I shouldn’t have even come.”

 

“No, we don’t think that,” Thor replies, and Jane appears to be relieved until he continues. “I’m going to fly out.”

 

“Wait, what?” Jane questions. “You’re going to what now?”

 

“Warrior, these are but humans. They break easily; even my mortal strength is enough to successfully best them in combat. We can accomplish this without death.”

 

You look over at Thor in amusement. “You _like_ humans, don’t you?”

 

“I find their weaknesses endearing,” Thor admits sheepishly. “As well as the lengths they will go to in an attempt to counteract their mundane nature. So yes, I suppose I like them.”

 

“Are you telling her not to _kill_ anyone?” Jane interjects, her eyes going wide.

 

You ignore her. “Alright, fine. I’ll be careful. Let’s go already.”

 

And with that, the two of you slide down the ridge towards the crater. A storm is brewing overhead, which makes Thor grin – he’s truly in his element once more.

 

\---

 

The Hunter’s boots touch the sand of the New Mexico desert as the sun vanishes over the horizon. He appreciates the timing; he’s always been more comfortable in the dark. His beasts immediately begin to roam, ready to explore the new land and rip into anything that moves.

 

He calmly calls the four with a whistle. They bound back to him at once, sinewy muscles flexing in their legs as they run on all fours. The Hunter withdraws the shred of red fabric from his deep coat pocket and tosses it to the salivating animals.

 

They shove their snouts at the small piece of cloth, thoroughly coating their muzzles in sand. One of the creatures bares its teeth and then loudly sneezes, causing a second to let out a low growl. They wait impatiently for the Hunter to give them the signal, the signal that means they can search out the new prey.

 

And with a raise of his hand, he does.

 

The beasts shoot forward at once in their pack, running faster than normal animals should be able to. One might say they resemble dogs, although none would mistake these as domestic creatures. They have no fur, their exposed, dark flesh laced with leftover scars from felled foes.

 

Many victims had called them Hellhounds, screaming loudly when the Hunter had sent the beasts to their door. In reality, they are monstrosities unlike any other. He watches them speed away as he lazily follows their tracks.

 

Judging from their fervor, the man they seek isn’t far.

 

\---

 

Loki stares at Heimdall, doing his best to keep his temper. “I’m sorry, perhaps I’ve misheard you.”

 

“You have heard correctly, prince,” the Seer replies levelly, staring at Loki with his odd, golden gaze. “I cannot allow you passage.”

 

“Why?” Loki retorts, narrowing his eyes. “I’d not bring my brother back, so surely the situation does not concern you.”

 

“Your father lies in slumber, your brother banished…. You are the last of the royal line. You see why I cannot do what you ask of me.”

 

“But I’m not, am I?” he questions bitterly, glaring at the Watcher. “You’ve seen it, haven’t you? I know you have. You know what I am…. Of royal blood, yes, but not Asgardian.”

 

“Odinson is your name,” Heimdall replies. “Prince of Asgard. You hold this title, still. For the safety of our kingdom, as I am sworn to uphold, I rebuff you, Loki. Come to me when your father awakens. You will find me much more accommodating.”

 

Loki clenches his fists, but knows he’s lost. It leaves a disgusting, bitter taste in his mouth. He longs to ask the Watcher what he sees upon Midgard, but his pride has him turning away without a word.

 

He will find out himself. One way or another.

 

\---

 

“Incoming,” you whisper, nodding your head towards the vehicle. “They know we’re here.”

 

“There’s two,” Thor notes. “One for each. We can quickly render them unconscious, and be on our way.”

 

“You know this isn’t going to exactly be a stealth mission,” you state under your breath. “There’s too many people around for us to successfully stay hidden.”

 

“Oh, I am aware,” Thor replies, smiling.

 

You both stay within the shadows of the compound, watching as the Jeep slows to a stop near the section of the fence you’d sliced apart.

 

“What the hell did this?” one of the men asks, hopping out of the vehicle and walking towards the fence.

 

Thor nods his head towards the man, and you move forward. You crouch by the front of the Jeep and listen carefully. Thor quickly elbows the driver across the jaw, and the agent slumps over in his seat. His partner turns around in surprise.

 

“Jackson?”

 

But you’re not Jackson. You easily kick in his leg and then sock him in the side of the head. He falls, his limbs stiff, and you turn back to Thor. The radio sounds into the silence, making you jump.

 

“DeLancey, Jackson – Report.”

 

“We need to move the bodies,” you say, but Thor quickly heads off in front of you. You catch up with him swiftly and roll your eyes. “You’re just _asking_ to get caught.”

 

“It won’t matter. And there was no need to break his leg,” Thor comments under his breath.

 

You both continue onwards, keeping to dark cover for as long as possible. Drops of rain start to hit the top of your head, and you look up at the cloudy sky in annoyance. Thunder rumbles softly in the distance, and Thor’s grin widens.

 

“Agents down! We’ve got a perimeter breach!”

 

The call is loud, and it makes your heartbeat pick up. Bright lights come on all around the complex, and an alarm pierces the night. You groan, and straighten up. “So much for stealth. Told you that wouldn’t last long.”

 

“And I told you it matters not!” Thor replies. “I must reach Mjolnir! Keep them off me, warrior.”

 

“Just don’t get caught,” you tell him, staying on his heels.

 

\---

 

At the lip of the ridge, Jane’s heart skips a beat when the alarms and lights come on. She ducks her head, doing her best to stay out of sight. “Oh, Foster, you idiot,” she mutters to herself, pulling her phone from her pocket.

 

As she expects, Erik doesn’t pick up. Jane waits impatiently for his voicemail to kick in. At last, she hears the beeping sound, and begins talking at once.

 

“Hey, Erik. So, I did something a little… rash. Don’t worry, I’m perfectly fine.” She considers the alarms sounding in the background and winces. “Really. But, uh, if you don’t hear from me again, you might want to come out to the crater site. I kind of… well, I did exactly what you told me not to.” Jane sighs, putting a hand over her face. “I’m sure you’ve guessed that by now…. Alright. Thanks. See you.” She’s about to hang up when she adds, “Well, uh, hopefully.”

 

\---

 

Thor races towards the main plastic tunnel entrance erected by S.H.I.E.L.D. which (he guesses) will take him to the center of the crash site. A spotlight shines brightly upon the two of you, and you raise a hand up. You force your energy towards it, the glass immediately shattering and the light dying at once. Thor has choked out one of the guards that stand by the entrance, and you start to head towards another when you hear something very out of place.

 

Heavy panting, thundering feet. You turn just in time to roll out of the way of snapping jaws.

 

Immediately, you summon your sword, your eyes going wide. These are not creatures of Earth. The black beast snarls at you, although its bright yellow eyes are fixed upon the god behind you. Its teeth are iridescent, shining in the light of the camp. It lunges at you, attempting to tear a hunk from your thigh as it passes.

 

You dodge to the side, swinging your sword. It slices a gash in the beast’s side, although no blood gushes as you had expected it to. It unsettles you in a way you can’t explain.

 

Thor’s taken care of the guards, the skirmish leaving him with a busted lip. He turns towards you with a bright smile that falls from his face when he sees your predicament. Yellow eyes are locked upon him, from the wide face of a monster he’s never seen.

 

You’re preoccupied with fending off the creature, but screams and gunfire from the edge of the site let you know there are more coming. You blast the growling beast away from you with your energy, and then realize that Thor is moving to help you.

 

“Get out of here, you idiot! Get the damn hammer, and quickly!” you hiss, readying yourself for the _thing_ to leap at you again.

 

“But –” Thor begins to retort, but you cut him off.

 

“GO! You need your powers to be helpful, now _go_!”

 

The rain falls harder, but still you raise a hand and attempt to set the beast aflame. The fire has no effect that you can see, except to ignite the creature’s wrath even more. It tosses its head from side to side, and then does something you do not expect.

 

It rises upon its hind legs (standing taller than you), lifts its large head to the sky, and lets out a long, low howl.

 

 _Unnatural!_ your mind screams as you take a few steps back, chillbumps rising on your arms. _This is wrong!_

It lowers the top half of its body, hunched over as it stares at you. The creature’s front feet are clawed and spread wide, as if it has hands. Its eyes seem too bright in the dark, the yellow almost transfixing you. You swallow hard and hold your sword up.

 

Three more pairs of eyes suddenly swim in the air behind the creature – it’s called its friends. Their muzzles are slick with blood, long tongues swiping across their jaws to remind them of the taste of their last kill.

 

You note bullet holes in the creatures’ sides, as if the agents had done their best to kill them. You set your jaw and rock on the balls of your feet.

 

You’ll have to do better.

 

You shoot forward, cutting the standing one up the middle in hopes of knocking it over. You succeed, but another is upon you almost at once. You slash at it, the sting of your blade across its face keeping it back a moment. The other two are rushing towards the tunnel entrance, their noses quivering.

 

“No!” you shout, remembering the first beast’s gaze fixing immediately upon Thor.

 

You pull the creatures back with your energy, causing them to whine at the unfamiliar tug. You fling them over past the others, and they hit the ground, hard. Gunshots ring out as agents close in, firing at the creatures. The one you cut up has gotten to its feet, and launches itself at the closest man.

 

“No, no, get back!” you shout, watching with wide eyes as the other two beasts leap towards the agents as well.

 

Screams and the smell of blood drive the creatures even crazier. The agents are doing everything they can to stay alive. Arrows rain down from the sky, striking the beasts’ bodies but not bringing them down. Bullets cleave holes in their flesh, but only halt their brutal attack for less than a second.

 

You reach out a hand to do whatever you can to help. The monster in front of you leaps for you again, and you slice at its torso. There’s a gunshot, and you dodge a wild bullet at the same time you try to sidestep the snarling beast. You let out a shriek of pain as strong jaws clamp around your lower thigh.

 

You panic as you feel teeth sinking quickly through your muscle; if you don't hurry, its jaws will meet, and you'll be missing a large part of your leg. You swiftly call up a knife, burying the dark blade into the creature’s yellow eye at once.

 

The sound it makes is absolutely horrendous. Instead of blood, bright yellow fluid seeps from beneath your blade. You bare your teeth as you shove it deeper, twisting as you do. The creature’s jaws release you, making you scream in pain once more.

 

The other three beasts react as if they've been stabbed as well. They fall to the ground, howling in pain and frantically mashing their heads into the mud as if that will make it stop.

 

The monster pulls from your grip, hilt of your knife sticking out of its head. Its brethren flee as the beast takes two steps and then collapses upon the ground, dead.

 

“Fucking hell,” Clint Barton swears from his vantage point in the crane basket, lowering his bow. He puts a finger to his ear. “Coulson. We’ve got a body.”

 

\---

 

Thor grins at the familiar sight of Mjolnir. It's been a hard fight to get to the center of the containment structure, but here he finally stands. He’s covered in mud, his lip bleeds, and he has countless gashes and bruises… but it's about to all be worth it.

 

Unbeknownst to Thor, he's still being watched. Agent Phil Coulson stands a level above, peering down with interest. The hammer almost seems to glow as Thor nears, electrical impulses making the machines at the site go wild. Lightning flashes above, the resulting thunder so loud and immediate that the hairs on the back of Coulson’s neck stand on end.

 

“We’re good out here. Do you need me to take him down?”

 

It's Barton again. Agents rush into the area, gathering behind Phil and readying their weapons. Before any can take a shot, Coulson holds up a hand.

 

“Wait,” he says, and then puts a hand to his ear. “Barton… hold your fire.”

 

Thor is beyond caring – he hears the voice, but it does not faze him. He reaches out, wrapping a hand around Mjolnir at last, and confidently goes to reclaim his weapon.

 

And finds… to his utmost shock and horror… that he cannot lift it.

 

He pulls with all his might, shifting his weight and bringing his other hand around in a futile effort to take what was once his.

 

Another lightning strike flashes above, followed by the deafening sound of thunder, as Thor struggles helplessly. “No!” he shouts up at the sky, rain falling into his upturned face. “No! Father, _why_?!”

 

And he grips the handle of the war hammer and pulls at it, a low scream tearing from his throat in exertion as his feet slip in the mud. The side of the weapon glows briefly, etched runes lighting up within the metal.

 

_Unworthy._

Thor hears the word, in his father’s own voice, as he collapses by Mjolnir. The containment area is silent, save for Thor’s labored breathing and the _plink_ of rain against plastic.

 

“Alright,” Coulson says, disappointment apparent in his voice. “Show’s over. Ground team, move in.” He puts a finger to his ear. “Barton, have they secured the girl?”

 

“Lost her in the aftermath,” Clint answers. “We’re looking for her now.”

 

Phil doesn't answer, watching as his men apprehend the blond man.

 

Thor allows himself to be taken, although they have to pry his fingers from Mjolnir’s handle.

 

The god of thunder feels hollow, broken, incomplete….

 

Unworthy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter before Reader gets to see Loki again!!!!
> 
> Update: FANART OF READER :D (I'm screaming, I'm so happy) by auria223!!  
> 


	13. The Reveal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to double post today!

You hover in the air, hands clamped around your bad leg. You don’t have enough time to make a tourniquet, as you know you have to move quickly. There’s going to be agents galore on your tail any second now. You have no idea why Thor didn’t come to your aid, but you can tell by now that S.H.I.E.L.D. must have him.

 

_What’s going on?_

It’s Loki, most likely feeling the waves of anxiety coming off of you. You shake your head, too distracted to answer, and instead think intensely on the last few things that had occurred. Hopefully, he’ll see them.

 

You launch yourself up the ridge, aware that you’re using way too much energy to keep your leg off the ground. Your boots are covered in mud, and you’re absolutely drenched to the core. You lower your feet to the earth and start to limp forward, knowing Jane should be nearby.

 

“Jane?” you call softly, praying you’d made your way up the correct ridge and that the scientist hasn’t been caught.

 

Or worse.

 

You hear the voices and the barking of dogs from below the ridge, and your heart speeds up. You don’t feel threatened by the humans by any means, but the circumstances have left you quite jumpy.

 

_Where are you?_

The question is insistent, with a dangerous edge. _On a ridge near the crash site. Won’t be here for long. They have Thor, though. I can bust him out, but not without killing people. Please tell me you figured out what’s wrong with my power. That would make everything so much easier._

You hear your name called, and you turn to find a wide-eyed Jane, belly-down in the mud and absolutely soaked. She looks wary of you, and you realize she’s clenching a pair of binoculars in her hands.

 

“Jane,” you say, relieved. “Thank God.”

 

“He… uh…” Jane begins as she gets to her feet and tucks her binoculars into her back pocket. “You…. What the hell?”

 

 _Leave Thor,_  Loki’s voice hisses. _Just get to safety. Do you hear me? Get out of there._

 

“We’ve got to go,” you state, grimacing as you try to keep weight off your leg. “They’ll be coming up this ridge any second now.”

 

The woman eyes you, clearly nervous by what she’s witnessed outside of the plastic containment structure.

 

“Look. You saw what happened. I can come back for him later, but we’ve got to go, or they’ll get us, too. Going after him now would mean… well, let’s just say it would be bad. For them.”

 

There’s a couple beats of silence, and then Jane looks towards the S.H.I.E.L.D. camp before turning back to you. “Right. Let’s go.”

 

\---

 

He screams. It’s guttural, and primitive, and full of agonizing pain. The Hunter clasps a hand over his eye, his dark glasses falling to the mud in the process. He sees it all, sees everything. Your snarling face, spattered with mud, driving the knife deeper and deeper….

 

“You’ll pay for that, you bitch,” he growls out loud, gnashing his teeth to stop his screaming.

 

It has been years since one of his beasts has fallen. He feels the absence in his mind, his chest and eye aching. Blood seeps from beneath his clothing, skin slowly healing from gashes and bullet holes. He knows eventually he will be able to see from his eye once more, that the flesh will regrow as it always does.

 

But _hell_ , if it doesn’t hurt.

 

\---

 

“Uh, sorry about your clothes,” you say from the passenger seat, doing your best to wrap your thigh with the gauze from the first aid kit.

 

Your borrowed jeans have large rips in them, stained with blood and mud, and the shirt is coated in muck.

 

Jane doesn’t answer for a moment, her mouth pressed into a thin line as she drives. “What _are_ you. What were those… _things_? What’s… what’s going on?”

 

You lean back in your seat, running a hand through your wet hair. “Uh. Well. No use in lying anymore I guess. So… Thor hasn’t been bullshitting you. And I have no idea what those things were. Unless you count ‘bad news’.”

 

“I…” Jane begins, but clams up and shakes her head. “I need some time.”

 

“Sure,” you say, shrugging, and the car lapses into silence.

 

 _Safe now, by the way,_ you tell Loki, staring out the window. _I’m heading back to the lab those scientists have. I’ve got to wait for things to die down at the base before I go back for Thor._

_Going back for him is unnecessary._

You frown, and let out a heavy sigh. _‘Unnecessary’ my ass. The government on Earth has a reputation. How about you come here and help me, hmm?_

He doesn’t reply, and you shift in your seat, feeling the bite in your leg throb with your heartbeat. _I’ll tell you when I’m alone,_ you think to him in resignation.

 

Out of habit, you pull your journal from your travel pouch. The pages are wet – the rain has gotten to it. You frown, and open it carefully to the newest entry. Your eyes go wide and your heart dips in relief when you see that Will has _finally_ replied to you.

 

***

 

_Manhattan, New York. Where are you?_

 

***

 

_Puente Antiguo, New Mexico. Thank God you’re okay. There are things here that aren’t supposed to be here, Will. I killed this creature with yellow eyes, and there’s at least three more. I don’t know what they are._

_Be careful. I can’t come get you yet. Something’s stopping me from warping. The government has Thor. I’ll let you know when I get him back._

***

 

Your words are written sloppier than normal, your hand shaking as the car moves. Jane’s cell phone rings, and she quickly answers it. You expect her to launch into a long explanation about what’s just occurred, but instead all she says is, “Are you at the lab?” There’s a pause. “Good. Wait for us there.”

 

And she hangs up.

 

The drive to Smith Motors isn’t long, although the silence makes it feel like an eternity. Soon enough, you’re both walking through the large glass doors. Erik and Darcy immediately get to their feet, and you stare around in wonder.

 

S.H.I.E.L.D. really had taken everything. And they hadn’t been careful of the surroundings, either. Chairs are knocked over, cabinets left open, empty folders scattered. The lab equipment is gone, all of the machines, pictures, and print-outs vanished. It makes the central room seem even larger.

 

“Damn, they weren’t playing around,” you comment, eyebrows up as you limp forward.

 

“Jane, what were you thinking?!” Selvig exclaims, hurriedly stepping up to her. “Are you alright?”

 

“Holy shit, is that blood?” Darcy asks you.

 

“Stay back, Darcy,” Erik warns, shooting you a suspicious glare.

 

“I’m fine, Erik,” Jane insists. She locks eyes with you. “We should see how bad your leg is.”

 

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” you tell her nonchalantly. “Give it a few days, it’ll be fine.”

 

“What’s going on?” Erik questions intently. “What happened.”

 

Jane is still watching you, worrying her lip as she stares. “Erik… before I explain… there’s something you have to see. And it’s going to seem impossible, but… you have to trust me.”

 

You know what she’s getting at, and you shake your head. “Jane….”

 

“You said it didn’t matter anymore. Show him,” she tells you fiercely. “Because otherwise… I mean, I already feel like I’m going crazy, so just…. Do it.”

 

“Do what?” Darcy asks, eyes wide.

 

You sigh through your nose, righting a knocked-over chair and taking a seat. “Fuck it. Okay. Um… Hm… Which one….”

 

Three pairs of eyes lock onto your hand as you lift it, and with a flick of your wrist, fire swirls within your palm and around your fingers. The effect this has on those present is very interesting to you.

 

Jane’s expression morphs into something close to hunger, as if she longs to question you, run tests, or begin hypothesizing at once. She’s already seen this from afar, but it’s easier to suspend disbelief when it happens right in front of her.

 

Darcy gasps audibly. “No fucking way. _Wow_.”

 

You figured as the youngest, she’d be more open to ‘otherworldly’ circumstances. Youths are usually much more understanding of such things, their minds easily adapting to what is normally deemed ‘impossible’.

 

Erik’s face is blank, and he blinks a few times before saying, “Is this a parlor trick? How are you doing that?”

 

“No trick,” you say, extinguishing the fire and shrugging. “Just me.”

 

His eyes flicker up to yours. “And… and Thor?”

 

“S.H.I.E.L.D. has him, Erik,” Jane pipes up.

 

Selvig blinks again, raises his eyebrows, and turns to face her. “Well, I suppose that’s it, then.”

 

“I can’t just leave him there,” Jane states, glancing over at you again.

 

“Why not?” Erik asks.

 

“You didn’t see what happened,” Jane informs him.

 

“Can you do it again?” Darcy questions you, stepping up close to you in curiosity.

 

“Not now, Darcy,” Jane tells her out of reflex.

 

“This is ridiculous,” Selvig says, looking over at you. “These tricks are… are unnecessarily childish.”

 

“Not a trick,” you comment again from your seat.

 

“Aren’t you the one who’s always told me to chase down all leads, all possibilities?” Jane asks, returning Selvig’s attention to her.

 

“I meant _science_!” Erik sputters, putting his hands to his head.

 

You get to your feet and limp over towards the back room, rolling your eyes as you go. Darcy notices, and pipes up with, “Where are you going?”

 

Jane and Selvig whirl around and take a few steps towards you. You fix them both with a glare, and shake your head. “I need to do something about my clothes. And my leg. If you guys are just going to argue, I’m going to go put my leathers back on.”

 

“Leathers,” Jane echoes, watching you.

 

“What happened to her leg?” Erik asks, turning to Jane once more. “Tell me what happened at the crater.”

 

You reach the door to the back room (shelves empty now – S.H.I.E.L.D. really is thorough) and close it behind you, kicking aside Thor’s hospital gown as you start to unbutton your pants.

 

“Hello, my dear.”

 

You freeze, and then look up to find Loki watching you carefully. He seems out of place in the simple room, his Asgardian garb full of intricate designs and textures. The familiarity of the sight of him sends a pang of longing through you, which you do your best to hide.

 

“Listen up,” you growl in a low voice, fixing him with a steely glare. “I’m about to punch the shit out of you. Then… I don’t know, I’ll probably kiss you. But punching first.”

 

“As well deserved as both of those would be,” he tells you dryly, “unfortunately, you can do neither. I’m but an illusion, murderess. Heimdall would not let me pass. I have other ways of traveling, but that requires energy I do not have at the moment.”

 

You slowly walk to him, and then put your hand up to push on his chest. Your fingers slip through the ornate leather armor, the illusion flickering slightly. You drop your arm and sigh. “Checks out.”

 

His eyes rake over you, in your bedraggled state. “Are you well?”

 

“Cold. My leg hurts. Other than that, I’m alive,” you tell him, returning to your task at hand.

 

He’s seen you undress countless times, but still, he watches with interest. “Have you any idea what those creatures were?” he asks you, taking in the blood weeping down your leg.

 

“No. I honestly have no idea what the fuck is going on, but I don’t like it. Now _you_ ,” you pause, pulling your old undershirt over your head, “are going to tell me what the hell is up with you.”

 

You busy yourself with the leather chest piece, doing what you can to put it on properly. Loki is silent for far too long. You look over at him, glancing at the dark circles beneath his eyes. “Just… start at the beginning?” you request quietly, meeting his green gaze. “Why’d you do it?”

 

“Odin had to see what Thor truly was,” Loki answers finally, his eyes narrowing. “I didn’t expect the outcome, no. But I’ve no qualms about it.”

 

“You let those Frost Giants into the palace, didn’t you,” you accuse, crossing your arms. “Admit it.”

 

He flinches, as if your use of the term had physically struck him. “Is that what you want to hear? That I betrayed my brother, cost men their lives, and set us on this chaotic path?”

 

“I just want the truth,” you state.

 

“The truth?” he asks coldly, a grim smile crossing his lips. “You don’t want to hear the truth. Or perhaps… maybe _I_ don’t want you to hear it.”

 

“Loki, what are you talking about?” you question, brows coming together in confusion at his tone.

 

“Here is your truth,” he states, staring straight into your eyes. “Odin has fallen into the Sleep, although for how long, we do not know. They hope he wakes upon the morrow.”

 

You search his face, feeling that something more lies beneath the apathy that seeps into your mind from his. “What else, Loki?”

 

He glares at you, his temper rising. “Nothing more.”

 

“You promised me the truth,” you state coldly, sneering at him. “All I’ve heard is you threw a temper tantrum that got your brother banished, and your dad’s taking a long nap to recharge. There’s something else. I felt what you felt, and I _know_ there’s something else. Is it really so hard to tell me?”

 

You think again of what Thor said, when you’d commented that Loki hadn’t told you what was going on.

 

_Maybe he won’t._

“I don’t have to tell you _anything_ ,” he spits coldly, glaring down at you.

 

You take a few steps back away from him, your eyes wide. It hurts. It hurts more than your leg. You cover it quickly with anger, as you always do. “Then what are you doing here?”

 

He tries to keep up his cold exterior, but the brief look of pain that flashed across your face hits him in a way that he can’t ignore.

 

_If you tell her, she’ll leave you._

_Her face will twist in revulsion and disgust._

_Everything you know is changing, why not have one thing remain the same?_

There’s a knock on the door, and Darcy’s voice floats through the wood. “Hey! You okay in there?”

 

“I’m fine,” you reply without looking away from Loki. “Give me a minute.”

 

You’re both quiet for a moment, and then you turn. “Just… whatever,” you mutter, taking another step back from him. “Keep your secrets. It doesn’t matter.”

 

“You would be repulsed,” he hears himself say quietly. “I’m… I’m not what you think I am.”

 

“When have I cared what you are?” you ask, giving him a look. “Prince.”

 

His lips twitch, as if he almost smiled. Still, his gaze is serious. “This is different.”

 

“Are you _dying_?”

 

He’s quiet for a moment, and then softly says, “I’m a monster.”

 

“How?” you ask suspiciously. “Did you kill someone? Burn the kingdom down while your dad slept? What?”

 

“No,” he states, his heart pounding loudly in his ears as he dispels the guise Odin had crafted for him long ago.

 

It is easy to do, now that he’s aware of its presence. His mind screams at him, calling him a wretched fool as he watches your eyes widen.

 

You take another step back in surprise, trying to make sense of the shift. You’d slain these creatures, no more than a few days ago…. In Jotunheim.

 

“You’re….” you say, doing your best to wrap your mind around it. It’s a struggle to make yourself believe what you’re seeing. “You’re a…. Huh. Damn. So, how’d you find out?”

 

The question catches him off guard, his brow furrowing. “That’s what you would ask of me? Are you not disgusted, woman, to see what kind of monster you’ve been sleeping with?”

 

“I mean, I’m a little shocked,” you tell him honestly. “More than shocked. Confused, maybe? Yeah.” You walk towards the illusion, your eyes taking in the blue skin, the strange markings, his red eyes. “Are you… are you alright?”

 

He laughs without humor, resuming his normal state in the blink of an eye. “Am I alright? Of all the people who ask me such ignorant questions, I had thought the last of them would be _you_.”

 

“Oh, sorry for _caring_ ,” you tell him sarcastically, sneering and backing away again. “Sorry that I’m not _disgusted_ with you like you wanted me to be.”

 

“Like I _wanted_ you to be?” he asks, outraged.

 

“You call yourself a monster,” you say, rolling your eyes. “Monsters are made by actions, not appearance. I’ve known _real_ monsters, Loki, and the majority of them don’t look the part.”

 

He stares at you, a mixture of emotions battling within his mind. “What depraved madness am I hearing? My true name is _Laufeyson_ , murderess. Need I remind you of what we faced upon Jotunheim?”

 

You remember the dark voice, the sinister red eyes that peered down upon your group in the frozen plaza. “Laufey? Really?” You pause, lip between your teeth. “Damn.”

 

“Now you see,” Loki says, his illusion flickering slightly.

 

You refocus on him as you slowly find your words. “Look. The way I see it, you’re still you. Knowing what you are doesn’t make you any different.” You pause, knowing the words sound hollow, even in your own ears. You have to be honest. “It’ll... uh... I’ll have to get used to it. The thought of it. But I mean, my people didn’t really give two shits about who you were bonded with. So... if you need me, I’m here.”

 

There’s another knock on the door, and you turn towards it. It’s Darcy again. “Who are you talking to?”

 

“No one,” you call back, looking over towards Loki once more.

 

And when you find yourself standing alone in an empty room, you realize your answer was more true than you’d initially thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you miss him?  
> Don't worry. He'll be back.


	14. A King

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm up late.... Or, I guess it's early now?
> 
> Regardless, when I can't sleep I end up writing.
> 
> So.
> 
> Here we are, folks.

“So he's found them, has he?” Halvar questions, pursing his lips and nodding his head.

 

“Yes, sire,” Jerrik replies, rising from his kneeled position. “I'm sure it'll be no time at all before he's subdued the prince.”

 

“Excellent,” the barbarian king states, leaning back in his throne. “You've proven useful after all.”

 

Jerrik seems pleased, his thin lips lifting into a smile. “Thank you, sir.”

 

Halvar surveys him for a moment, and then says, “I've had my men look into your past, sorcerer. You have quite a history.”

 

Jerrik’s almost-smile freezes, face still upturned towards the king. “My lord, I –”

 

“Assisted the Ordinat in kidnapping Asgardians, passed them information regarding the lasting effect of their poison, taught their spies the ways of the land in order for them to blend with our society, and were willing to trade your family in return for power. Am I correct?”

 

Jerrik’s head is swimming, having to listen to his atrocities laid out before him in such a blunt manner. “That is correct. Yes.”

 

Halvar holds his gaze for a moment. “I do not trust you. But the plan you detailed, I cannot deny, speaks to me. I shall keep my eye on you, sorcerer, make no mistake. Should I sense any sort of treachery, I will not hesitate to have you killed.”

 

“Understood,” Jerrik replies, dipping his head.

 

\---

 

“I have to hand it to you. You put on quite a show. Hell, you even had several of us rooting for you.”

 

Thor stares at the man in front of him, and does not reply. The room they've moved him to is constructed of nothing but glass windows, white blinds drawn on all sides. There's a single sliding door, and although he cannot see out, Thor feels as if many eyes are upon him. His hands are cuffed behind his back, the pinch on his wrists quite painful. They've allowed him a chair to sit in, although the room is devoid of anything else.

 

Just the chair, the man, and the windows.

 

“So, where'd you get your training, then?” Coulson asks pleasantly, as if the situation is quite commonplace. “Takes a lot to do what you did. Would you like to tell me who you are working for?”

 

Still, Thor does not reply. He does not know how to respond, and even if he did, his heart still sits heavy in his chest. His eyes slide past the agent to his own reflection in the back wall. His lip is swelling, blood running down his chin.

 

“Pakistan? Chechnya? Afghanistan? No, no, those don't seem to be ringing any bells for you, do they? Are you a mercenary, perhaps? I've heard HYDRA pays well for a man like you.”

 

These names are foreign to Thor’s ears, although the confusion does not break through his numbed exterior. He has never felt more lost, more unsure of himself. He'd figured once he’d grasped Mjolnir’s hilt, all of his problems would vanish.

 

More than ever, he was wrong.

 

Now he stares at his own face, barely listening to the mortal before him. This is no fight he can win with blows. It is as his brother said, many months ago in Odin’s council room.

 

_There are situations that can't be settled with blood, you know._

 

“I think with the amount of people dead, you'd be more talkative,” Coulson probes, searching for any sort of reaction.

 

And this time, he's successful. Thor’s blue eyes shoot up to his, his blond eyebrows meeting. “There were deaths?”

 

“There were, yes,” Phil answers, nodding. “Does this… concern you?”

 

The beasts had killed, yes, but had you? When he'd specifically requested no lifeblood to be spilled? His brother calls you ‘murderess’, but he'd not thought you'd stoop so low as to massacre those as defenseless as these mortals.

 

Coulson takes Thor’s silence in stride, sighing and shaking his head. “One way or another, we’ll find out what we want to know.” He gives Thor a smile. “We’re good at that. Very good. I'll give you a little time to think on things.”

 

Phil walks from the room, and as the door closes, Thor drops his head. It is quiet in the little room, but only for a moment.

 

“I thought he'd never leave. I say, he likes to hear himself talk, that one.”

 

Thor’s eyes shoot up, his mouth opening in shock. “ _Loki_!”

 

“None other,” Loki replies calmly, surveying the sad state Thor has found himself in.

 

“What are you doing here?” Thor questions.

 

“I had to see you,” his brother answers.

 

“What has happened?” Thor asks quickly. “Is all well? Did Jotunheim attack? What occurred to make your girl worry so?”

 

Loki sighs heavily, shaking his head at the banished prince. “I see, you’d much rather cut to the chase. Very well. Father has succumbed to the Sleep. Your banishment, the threat of war, it was too much for him to bear.”

 

“What?” Thor asks, his eyes going wide.

 

The other prince gives him a sympathetic look. “They fear he will not wake this time, but that remains to be seen.”

 

Guilt gnaws at Thor’s mind – he feels he is the cause of this. His quest for vengeance, his thirst for war had become nothing more than a burden to the realm and the man he holds in highest regard.

 

Thor meets Loki’s gaze, and in a voice that trembles without his permission, he asks, “Can I come home?”

 

“I doubt it,” Loki Liesmith remarks, shaking his head. “Mother has been meeting with Odin’s council, although what they discuss, I do not know. I will gladly vouch for you, of course, if the opportunity presents itself.”

 

Thor’s gaze drops to the floor again, his misery apparent. His hands twitch behind is back, as if he longs to hide his face. “I'm… I’m sorry. I truly am. I have been a fool. And I shall gladly suffer for it.”

 

“I am unable to lend assistance, Thor, or I would do more. All I can offer is words,” Loki tells him.

 

“Your words are enough,” Thor answers, giving his brother a grim smile.

 

“Hear this, then,” Loki states, walking up to him and leaning down. “Learn your lesson here, brother, but leave _her_ out of it.”

 

And before Thor can say anything more, the image of Loki vanishes before his eyes.

 

\---

 

“Well that's just disturbing,” Barton comments dryly, standing with the other agents monitoring the room. “He's having an entire conversation with someone who isn't there.”

 

“He certainly is more talkative now, isn't he?” Phil muses. He turns to one of the men beside him. “I want a transcript of everything said.”

 

“Yes sir.”

 

Coulson readies himself to reenter the room when someone else approaches. “Sir,” the agent says. “He has a visitor.”

 

\---

 

You sit cross-legged in the floor across from Darcy. Jane has pulled up a chair at one of the empty lab tables, and is busy making notes on the front of a ripped folder.

 

“Maybe it's like how any other fire is made,” Darcy theorizes, staring at the flames above your fingertips. “Heated particles, and all of that.”

 

“Maybe,” Jane says excitedly, scribbling faster.

 

“But I got nothing on the other thing,” Darcy states. She waves her hand at you. “C’mon, do it again, do it again.”

 

You grin and spread your fingers, the fire fading as darkness flares in its place. As she did before, Jane stops writing, her eyes fixating on the mystery in front of her.

 

You have never, _never_ had _anyone_ so fascinated with what you can do. It’s an odd feeling, one you're not used to. Where you come from, powers such as yours are only to be feared, or looked upon as reckless and dangerous.

 

Destructive.

 

Deadly.

 

_Murderess._

 

But Jane and Darcy are entranced, much to your bewilderment. You're slowly realizing that you can hold a conversation with them. That maybe _all_ humans aren’t so bad. It helps to distract you….

 

But you still see him in your mind’s eye. Skin as blue as frost, glittering ruby eyes in place of his normal emerald. A familiar face with a stranger’s features.

 

It is unnerving, even when you tell yourself it doesn’t matter.

 

Maybe if you were in Asgard, things would be different. Maybe you could help…. Somehow. You've never been good at that, but damn if you wouldn't try for him.

 

“Shouldn't Erik be back?” you ask, pushing the thoughts aside and lowering your hands as you cast a look towards the front door.

 

\---

 

“Donny, Donny, Donny! There you are!”

 

Thor looks up in surprise, a tentative smile spreading across his face at the sight of the man. “Erik?”

 

 “It's going to be alright, my friend. Now, come on, let's get you home,” Selvig states, pulling Thor to his feet and throwing an arm over his shoulder.

 

Two agents look to Phil, who purses his lips. “Uncuff him.”

 

Thor’s chest swells as he feels the restraints come off. That's twice in Midgard he's been bound, and he doesn't much care for it to happen again.

 

“No more drinking for a while, ay Donald?” Erik comments as they start walking, letting out a laugh.

 

“If you insist,” Thor replies, catching on to Erik’s ploy.

 

The agents watch as the pair make their way through the containment area, many shaking their heads and going about their business. Thor has done a number on the plastic tunnels and walls S.H.I.E.L.D. had set up. It will take a while to repair them, as well as care for the injured.

 

The two men are almost clear when a table of equipment and papers catches Thor’s eyes. He recognizes Jane’s notebook, sitting upon the edge of the table. Without thinking (which some would say is not unusual for the god of thunder) he nabs the book and tucks it tightly to his side.

 

Coulson glances at one of his monitors, and then quickly walks to the site entrance. He can see from here that Erik and “Donald” have almost reached their vehicle. “Dr. Selvig!”

 

Thor and Erik freeze, their hearts simultaneously leaping into their throats. Erik turns back, working to keep his face pleasantly curious. “Yes?”

 

Phil gives him a half smile. “Keep him away from the bars.”

 

Selvig grins and lifts a hand. “Don't worry! I will!”

 

Coulson watches them carefully, and then tilts his head to the side. “Follow them.”

 

The agent beside him nods.

 

Thor and Erik continue on their way to the SUV, which the god of thunder can't help but feel a bit apprehensive about. After being hit twice, he has no love for this method of travel. The Asgardian waits until they’re almost to the car before he asks, “Where are we going?”

 

“Don't know about you,” Selvig grumbles, unlocking the vehicle, “but after what I've seen today? I need a drink.”

 

\---

 

“He's got him,” Jane says to you and Darcy, ending the call and sighing in relief. “Erik said they're on their way to town. No sign of any otherworldly beasts.”

 

“Thank God,” you mutter, groaning and laying over flat on the floor. The tile is cool beneath your skin, a familiarity that you never thought you would miss. “I'm exhausted.”

 

You've used a lot of energy today, and it's quickly catching up to you. Now that you know Thor is (relatively) safe, you feel like you could maybe sleep for an hour or two.

 

“Let’s see…” Jane murmurs, getting to her feet. “I've got a sleeping bag and an extra blanket.”

 

“I've got a pillow you can use,” Darcy adds. “I mean, it's more decorative than comfortable, but still.”

 

“Huh. Thanks. Really, I mean it. I was about ready to curl up in the corner,” you say, sitting up.

 

They offer you one of the back rooms of Smith Motors, which you guess used to be someone’s office. You use their facilities to wash up, and find you're actually quite ready to try and sleep. Neither of your companions seem content to leave you alone (you're positive Jane will be up for _hours_ hypothesizing over everything she’s seen today), but eventually the door does close, and you're left in the dark holding an overly baggy t-shirt Darcy lent you to sleep in.

 

You've been laying in the sleeping bag for about thirty minutes when you hear his voice.

 

_Hello?_

You smirk at the ceiling and then roll onto your side. _Talking to me again?_

_Yes, I am._

You wait to see if there’s more, but your mind is silent for a long period. Finally, you say hesitantly, _You know I care about you, right?_

_I know. I care for you as well. I would wish to have you by my side tonight._

_That would be nice._ You sigh aloud, pulling the sleeping bag up to your neck and adjusting your head on Darcy’s pillow. _Any chance of me seeing you again anytime soon?_

_Perhaps. I'm still researching different methods in which someone can render another’s power obsolete. Of course, it would be easier to trace were I before you in person, but I'm working with what I have._

You figured this would be how it went. He's intent on acting as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn't discovered something about himself that rocked his identify to the core.

 

You know he will eventually come to terms with it. After all, you're still wrapping your head around it as well.

 

But for now, you'll play this game of pretend. _Well, either way. I don't care. I've gotten used to being around you, and I don't really like this whole ‘long-distance’ thing we have going on. Starting to forget about you already._

You're teasing now, and you hear the smirk in his voice (and is that a hint of relief? Had he really thought you'd leave him?) when he replies. _After all we’ve done? I much doubt that._

\---

 

It's been five days since Odin fell into his rest. The king has yet to awaken, resting within his golden palace as talk and rumor continue to pass from lip to ear. The Asgardians have grown restless, worry and uncertainty driving conversations regarding the Allfather.

 

Word has spread that several neighboring kingdoms have been gathering their armies; some to defend Asgard if need be, and others to attempt battle. The people within the grand city no longer feel safe. The peace is fragile, only kept alive due to war leaders second guessing themselves as they bide their time.

 

Loki’s been kept busy with meetings, research, and training, although he continually keeps in touch with you throughout his day.

 

And you have been keeping an eye out for odd things happening on Earth, although you've yet to see any yellow eyes anywhere but in your dreams.

 

You've been bonding with the strange band of humans that have let you stay under their roof, and find that – like Thor – you're actually starting to like them and their little quirks.

 

It is on the fifth afternoon that things change.

 

“Sire?”

 

Loki sits up quickly, blinking as his gaze fixes on the man standing in front of his desk. He's utterly ashamed to discover he had fallen asleep while pouring over countless ancient scrolls in a dialect he can barely read. He recovers quickly, clearing his throat. “Hammond?”

 

“There's a woman here to see you. Shall I let her in?”

 

“Alright,” he answers curiously.

 

The woman in question is one he recognizes – one of his mother’s personal servants.

 

Gudrun has been all over the palace searching for the prince, and her feet are more than troubling her. Had she been told he was within the sorcerer’s guild, her trip could've been much less laborious. Her round face is red and blotchy, but she does her best to control her voice.

 

“Prince Loki, you are summoned by the queen. She wishes to speak to you at once.”

 

\---

 

His mother stands before the golden throne, Gungnir held within her hands. She is in every way a queen in this moment, from her dress to her expression. She fits easily within the throne room, a beauty that outmatches all around her. Guards stand on either side of her, their armor reflecting in the light.

 

Loki approaches, his dark eyebrows raised. Odin’s council is positioned at the side of the room, some whispering to one another as their eyes bore into him.

 

“Mother,” Loki greets, respectfully bowing as he does so.

 

“Loki,” Frigga replies, and although her tone rings with authority, her gaze is warm.

 

“I am to understand I've been summoned,” the prince says, his eyes cutting to the council in mild curiosity.

 

“Indeed,” Queen Frigga agrees, nodding her head. “My son, it has been five days. It is time.”

 

“Time?” Loki asks, refusing to think on his growing speculation of what this gathering is for.

 

“Odin sleeps, and while he does, Asgard is weak. With our enemies advancing, we cannot count on your father to wake.” Frigga pauses, her eyes dropping for a moment before they return to the prince. “Thor is banished. The line of succession rightfully falls to you. Until your father awakens, Asgard is yours.”

 

Loki’s eyes widen as the guards beside his mother kneel to him – to _him_ – and when he looks back to her, she extends Gungnir to him with steady hands.

 

“Make him proud,” the queen whispers.

 

It is but a farce of a true coronation, but a coronation nonetheless. And with it… a title. A title that makes Loki’s chest swell, makes him wonder if he is still asleep within the guild study.

 

Because surely, this must be a dream.

 

He takes the mighty spear, feels the power within it surge under his fingers. The weight is balanced, the craftsmanship perfect.

 

A weapon fit for a king.

 

And _oh_ , does it feel good in his hand.


	15. Orders

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uh, listen my dudes.  
> The last half of this chapter is NSFW.  
> aka  
> There be smut ahead.

Things have been quiet around the lab. This lull only serves to make you even more suspicious of what's going on – there are still at least three yellow-eyed beasts roaming, and you'd bet your life that S.H.I.E.L.D. has been watching the lab since Erik picked up Thor.

 

So why has everything continued to be… normal?

 

‘Normal’ is not a word you care for, not something you know how to do. But there's a new ‘normal’ in your life now. One that consists of long-distance conversations with the two you hold most dear, and doing your absolute best to blend in to human society.

 

The idea of ‘giving back’ has slowly been worming its way through Thor’s princely attitude. He was absolutely baffled by your offer to do the dishes for Jane and Darcy on the day they took the both of you to pick out clothes of your own. You'd told him it was the least you could do, and he’d called you ‘washer’ for an entire day until you pointed out (albeit a little too crossly) that he should be _helping_ _you_. That without the three mortals he so favored, the both of you would be camping in the desert and eating whatever could be hunted or stolen.

 

And so after lunch today, you were pleased when the god of thunder offered to help clean up with little hesitation.

 

Thor glances over at you as you dry the flatware, a curious expression on his face. “Why do you smile? I was unaware that mundane chores please you so.”

 

“What?” you ask, your eyebrows going up when you realize your lips are indeed pulled into a wide grin. “I don't know. I guess I'm just… happy?”

 

But as the words leave your mouth, you realize _you_ are not the happy one. And the feeling flooding through you is not one of simple _happiness_. No, this is _elation_. This is unbridled _joy_ that overwhelms you and makes it hard to breathe.

 

_What's… going on?_

His answer comes quickly, his tone warmer than you've heard since the two of you have been separated. _My darling queen, I'll tell you everything and more come this evening. I've found myself suddenly very busy._

 

You can feel your cheeks flush at the bold pet name, and you hurriedly busy yourself with the dishes left in the sink. On more than one occasion, you’ve told the prince that you don't much care for terms of endearment. ‘Darling’ and ‘my dear’ are about all you're remotely comfortable with.

 

This has never stopped him. He thinks it's amusing when you blush.

 

“You know,” Thor muses, setting a plate on the counter, “I find myself content upon Midgard, in a way I never thought possible. Do not be mistaken; I miss home. I miss my companions, my family. But this realm has a certain charm that I cannot help but take to.”

 

“You mean Jane?” you say, still grinning like an absolute fool.

 

“What?” Thor asks you quickly, and you snicker as you towel off a bowl.

 

“I'm not blind, you oaf.”

 

Thor frowns at you. “I hear my brother in that insult.”

 

“I did pick it up from him,” you state, your broad smile shifting into a smirk. “It's a good one. Makes me sound sophisticated.”

 

Thor snorts, setting another plate on the counter. Before he can answer, Darcy calls from the open area of the lab. “Hey! We’re all set up in here.”

 

You sigh, and Thor looks away. Erik and Jane have been doing little tests with your abilities – the trials are nowhere near as elaborate as they would've been if the scientists were still in possession of their equipment. You know every long discussion with Jane and Erik about your powers only further reminds Thor of his weaknesses.

 

You wonder if the idea of living life as a mortal is as troubling to him as it would've been you, were you in his place.

 

\---

 

You're starting to think he won't come to see you. It's late, the light from underneath the door the only thing illuminating your room. The area is very much the same as when you arrived, except for the small upgrade of your bedding. Jane has lent you an air mattress, which you've pulled over to the far corner of the room, and you now have extra blankets and an actual (non-decorative) pillow.

 

You've tried to contact Loki once more today, but received no reply. You close your eyes and mentally shrug your shoulders.

 

It's always been hard to sleep, but it’s even harder to sleep alone. The minutes trickle by slowly, and you wish you could quiet your thoughts. Even a light doze would be preferable to this.

 

Finally, you hear your name. You yawn as you slowly sit up, your gaze lazily scanning your borrowed room. Loki stands in the center, a wide smile already spreading across his face.

 

“A little late, huh?” you comment.

 

“I suppose it is. Are you too tired to converse with me?” he questions, watching you rub at your eyes.

 

“I'm fine. Wide awake. Plus, judging from that shit-eating grin, you have something you want to tell me.”

 

He casts you a disapproving glance regarding the expression – he's never liked the phrase, which in turn means you try to apply it to him when at all possible. “Despicable idiom aside, yes. I've some intriguing news.”

 

You cross your legs and look up at him, feigning a look of innocent expectation. “Yes, oh Princely Illusion?”

 

He smirks smugly and takes a step closer. “My dear, I'll have you know that you currently speak with the King of Asgard.”

 

It takes you a moment to react, your mind running through the words again. Your eyebrows rise, and you watch him carefully to see if he jests. “King? Really?”

 

“Indeed,” he answers, his smirk widening. “Until Odin wakes, the realm is mine.”

 

You purse your lips, scrutinize him, and then decide he's telling the truth. “Wow, look at you. Moving on up in the world, huh? So, how's it been, then?”

 

The illusion of Loki considers the question as he walks over to your makeshift bed and sits on the floor across from you. “A lot of meetings, several audiences. I also required each council member to meet with me personally, so that I could judge whether they will continue to hold their positions under my rule.”

 

“And the verdict?” you ask curiously.

 

“Not all suit my needs or ideals,” he answers simply.

 

You snort, and then roll your eyes. “Not even a whole day as king, and you're already laying people off.”

 

He shrugs nonchalantly, as if the thought doesn’t bother him in the slightest. “Who’s to say how long Odin will slumber? I prefer not to waste the time I've been given.”

 

“So, what does this change?” you ask. “If I call you a ‘shithead’ now that you're king, are you going to have me executed or something?”

 

“Darling, I could've had that done as prince,” he answers with a twisted smile.

 

“King,” you muse aloud. “That's… huh. I hope you don't think I'm going to treat you any different. I’m not falling on my face in your presence, or shit like that.”

 

“Not even in my wildest dreams would I imagine such a thing,” he says dryly, his green eyes cutting to the ceiling. He then fixes you with a calculating stare, leaning forward towards you from his seated position. “However. I've an interesting notion that could prove most… _exciting_ , should you choose to comply.”

 

“What's that?” you ask, cautiously curious.

 

He leans even closer, and brings his hand up to lightly stroke your face. Although his fingers cannot truly meet your skin, the illusion leaves a chilly sensation on your cheek where he touches you. “Perhaps allow me a little kingly… practice? A new ruler cannot leave his kingdom so soon after being crowned, but I've grown impatient with our predicament. Won't you do as I say, my dear? For tonight?”

 

You're slowly understanding, and your face flushes as you clear your throat. “I don't think you need any practice in telling people what to do.”

 

He's undeterred. “Won't you curb your tongue for a celebratory evening? Do you not miss me? Want for me?”

 

Before you can reply, he flexes his wrist. The surrounding room suddenly transforms, an illusion of Loki’s chambers replacing it. You're shocked to realize just how much you’ve been longing for the familiarity – the golden canopy, the emerald linens, your line of useless treasures he’s yet to remove from his desk. You sit upon the bed, although you can still clearly feel the air mattress beneath you.

 

“Are you more comfortable now? Why not lie back, hm?”

 

You look over to find the prince – no… the _king_ – stretched out on his side next to you. The covers dip beneath him, and you guess that he is in actuality laying across his bed.

 

“Damn. It's almost like being there,” you say quietly, laying down and turning to face him.

 

He watches you for a moment. “It appears as if you truly lie beside me. But as much as I long for such a pleasure, I know it isn't so.” His sharp gaze rakes across your form. “Won't you take off that mortal garb? I much prefer how you normally look in my bed.”

 

His room is quite dark, but still, you blush. If you were with him, you'd lightly push his shoulder. You'd tell him that if he wanted your clothes off, he could do it himself. You'd press your lips against that wicked smirk, as you have a hundred times before.

 

But you're not there.

 

“Alright,” you say softly, and he knows he's won.

 

Loki takes in every movement as you pull your shirt over your head. The urge to reach out, to take you in his arms, is strong and hard to resist. His eyes flick to your neck, your collarbones, your chest, your hips – you’re still half-clothed. “Everything, darling. For me.”

 

Your heart beats quicker at his words, and you find yourself complying. Now he sighs, reaching out and tracing the naked curve of your thigh. Chills spread across your body from the phantom touch, which leads him to continue up your side until he reaches your breast. “It feels as though it's been an eternity since I've beheld you in this way.”

 

“It really does,” you say quietly.

 

“On your back,” he tells you, his tone smooth in your ears.

 

You hold his gaze for a second before you do as he told you. The rough feel of the fabric beneath you does not match what your eyes tell you is there. It's a reminder that you're not on Asgard. Not truly.

 

“I'd have you now if I could, you know,” he says, voice slightly hoarse. “As king, I should be able to, yes? Laid out on my bed, bare for me. I'd run my hands through your hair, I'd tilt your jaw – yes, just like that – and kiss your neck.”

 

There’s a chill suddenly in the hallow of your neck that makes you shudder. “ _Fuck_ , Loki.”

 

“Quiet, love,” he soothes in a hushed voice. “Someone could hear you.”

 

His fingers ghost across your body, and you realize you desperately miss his touch. He's spreading chillbumps up your arms and across your chest, your nipples peaking in response to the cold.

 

“Mm, how I’d touch you,” he whispers in your ear. “Do you miss it, beautiful? Do you miss my tongue on your breast, the feel of my hand between your legs?”

 

 _God_ , that voice. Low and husky, words weaving erotic sensations of past carnalities. Your breath catches in your throat at the icy cold that spreads from between your thighs for a moment as he touches you.

 

“Answer me.”

 

“Yes,” you say, your throat tight as you bite your lip and lean your head back.

 

“Keep those stunning eyes open, now. I'll not suffer them closing just yet, lest pleasure is the cause. Cup your breast, won't you?”

 

Your hands slide up your front, over your chest, and you grasp at yourself and tease your nipples as he eagerly watches. Your knees part slightly as your eyes flutter closed again, a quiet moan rumbling in your throat.

 

“Fates, look at you.” He's loosening his trousers, his heart hammering loudly in his ears as he drinks in the sight before him. “Your hand, darling, between your legs now.”

 

“Fuck,” you swear as you touch yourself and realize what his words have done, how wet you are at even the idea of him.

 

You hear him shifting, and open your eyes to find he’s hovering above you, supporting himself with one arm. His other hand grips his shaft, his wrist moving rapidly. You can feel everywhere the illusion touches you, the frigid coolness settling on your body. You match his fast pace, your other hand tightening on your chest.

 

“Think of me, of our nights together,” he says, voice strained as he strokes himself above you. “Of how I fuck you until you scream, how you grasp the sheets in ecstasy.”

 

“God,” you whimper, your ministrations picking up in tandem with his. “Shit, why aren't you here? I want you so fucking bad.”

 

“I'd have you writhing beneath me,” he says, his breath quickly becoming ragged. “My name on your lips, my teeth marking your skin. You're always so slick, hot, _wanting_.”

 

You’re gasping now, your toes curling, hurtling towards the edge. “ _Fuck me_.”

 

“Hold on, love. Look at you, so eager. How long has it been since you've been here, since I've left you spent and panting? Can you feel it, darling? Do you know the sensation, the sinful pleasure it gives me to feel your body _clench_?”

 

“Loki….”

 

“Oh, yes, you know I love that,” he says within a moan, leaning his head down towards yours. “And you know what else I want tonight. Ask it.” When you’re silent for a beat or two, he leans even closer, his tone dangerous. “Now.”

 

“Please,” you beg, ashamed even as the word leaves your lips.

 

“Yes, faster, then,” he tells you, his grip tightening in the fabric near the side of your head. “Mm, the sound of your fingers….”

 

You're rubbing yourself frantically, your other hand’s fingers twisting your nipple as your back arches. You can't help but gasp out his name as your muscles tighten, your eyes closing as you finally climax.

 

“Stars, yes, keep your legs spread, please, I –”

 

His sentence cuts off in a throaty groan as he finishes across his comforter, the illusions he’d cast vanishing as he loses focus.

 

You lay panting, hand still between your legs as you do your best to gain control of your body. You open your eyes to find yourself alone, the room once again nothing more than an old, abandoned office.

 

You roll onto your side, pulling your blankets up over your bare body. You feel the chill against your back before you hear him – you can't tell if it's a full illusion or just his presence, but either way his voice whispers in your ear as if he's truly there.

 

“Just wait until I get my hands on you, darling. You're _mine_. I'm going to fuck you until you forget everything but me, until there's nothing left in your thoughts but my voice hissing curses in your ear. Think of this, my dear, when you miss me. Count on it.”


	16. Pieces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *We interrupt your daily fic reading to bring you: PLOT*
> 
> Hey, guys. I'm sorry for the days in between chapters. I've had a really busy weekend, but I haven't forgotten about the story!

The Hunter can _finally_ see out of his eye when he wakes in the morning. He's thankful, more than he has been in a long time. Even so, the skin still feels hot and angry, his flesh pulled taut around the socket. The wound weeps, no matter how he wipes at it, and pain throbs deeply within his skull. The injury is taking longer to heal than he’d expected. This is irritating, yes… but he is patient.

 

He's made camp on a high ridge, far enough from civilization that he won’t be disturbed or stumbled upon, but not so far as to be unable to find his target when necessary. Survival has never been an issue for the Hunter, and he'd much rather face the elements than come into contact with other living beings.

 

He has let his beasts roam as he waits, loosing them upon whatever unfortunate creatures they happen upon. The panting monsters always return to him in the dead of night with their appetites sated; with what, he neither knows nor cares.

 

He will not allow them to hunt their true target until he is fully healed. The man that Jerrik wants dead is well-guarded. And while the Hunter craves the payment for the completed mission, he recalls that he made the sorcerer aware from the beginning that he is _not_ a man for hire.

 

He is just a man.

 

And as such, he holds off, despite Jerrik’s urgings. The Hunter intends to repay the kindness you showed him and his monstrosities. He intends to fill the hole you left in his pack with vengeance. He will not let you kill again. This is why he waits until he is whole to begin the hunt once more, why he has not let his beasts seek out you or your companion. He intends to be there.

 

 _It’s as they say,_ the Hunter thinks, sliding on his dark glasses as he rests by the campfire, _an eye for an eye_.

 

\---

 

Master Hammond sits to Loki’s side at the council table. He is still a little stunned at the quick transition of the man’s title from ‘prince’ to ‘king’, but he’s not complaining. Hammond finds the council meeting intriguing, as he's always been interested in such ongoings (although he’s never been privy to such an important gathering).

 

The new ruler listens to the man that is currently speaking, although Hammond can tell Loki’s mind is elsewhere.

 

The king’s council has diminished noticeably in number since yesterday. Loki is a man that does not trust easily, and a six-person council seemed like rather a lot of people to him. Odin required the advice of many; Loki thinks himself more capable.

 

He’s added Master Hammond to the mix, wanting his own man at the table. The others do not think the young master capable, and eye the sorcerer with distrust. However, this does not concern the new king. They will learn his ways as Hammond already has, depending on how long Loki sits the throne.

 

The king has kept two of Odin’s original men: Egil the strategist and Colborn the debater. The rest he had dismissed, much to their humiliation. One man, Udom, had even angrily exclaimed that Odin would immediately reinstate them upon his awakening.

 

Loki is unbothered. The past few days have left him in a mood so pleasant that nothing seems able to shake him. The council has successfully come up with a plan of defense for the kingdom while Odin sleeps, and Loki has already agreed to it.

 

His mind has wandered. He’s wondering how to convince you to return without his boar of a brother at your side. Odin waking will ruin things eventually – that’s something nothing short of regicide can prevent – but should Thor return….

 

Will he not demand the throne at once? The thought troubles Loki, more than he cares to admit. Something will have to be done.

 

\---

 

The shop is busy, customers peering at the new, intriguing artifacts offered. _Jerrik’s son_ , they whisper. _Yes, remember when Jerrik worked here? Whatever happened to that man?_

_Didn't you hear? There's rumor…. But his son has taken his place._

_What good quality! Such work can only be achieved after attending the School of Sorcery, to be sure._

Asmund’s charms and spells are unique, and word has spread of the little objects he’s enchanted for his mother to sell. Yet he hates it. The customers, they always talk of his father. The comparison brings him no joy.

 

He hands Sigrid a bundle which holds his newest works. She smiles at him, and he feels himself relax. She's the only one that makes sense to him nowadays, the only thing to keep him grounded. She appreciates him, consoles him, assists him when she can. She knows he works hard every day, seeking out whatever arcane books and scrolls are available to a young man of his status.

 

There is a place for those who yearn for magical knowledge, if they are prestigious enough to gain audience with the realm’s true master of sorcery. But it is hard enough for a common boy to have conversation with a prince, let alone a _king_.

 

However, such things have never stopped one as optimistic and driven as Asmund.

 

\---

 

“He's failing,” Halvar states coldly, walking the wooden halls of the meager barbarian palace.

 

Jerrik frowns, a mixture of fear and irritation growing in the pit of his stomach. “He is _not_ failing, sire. The being is a master of strategy. He does not think it prudent to attack while he is injured; he will not underestimate the girl a second time.”

 

“Yet again, sorcerer, you offer me words and no results. I am beginning to wonder if your methods will prove fruitful or not,” Halvar growls, dark eyes locking onto Jerrik’s.

 

“I trust in my methods, as should you. I did extensive research, my lord. The Hunter’s record and reputation speaks for itself.”

 

The barbarian king does not reply immediately, and the pair’s footsteps are loud against the wood panels of the floor. Eventually, Halvar speaks. “Regardless, I've other matters to attend to.”

 

Jerrik waits a beat, unsure of what to say. He's most curious as to of why Halvar had retrieved him from his locked and guarded room. “Should I return to my chambers, sire?”

 

“I have heard talk that you despise the remaining Asgardian prince, Loki Odinson. Is this correct?” the king asks, ignoring the proposed question.

 

Jerrik is taken aback, although he recovers quickly. “It is, my lord. Who has been telling –”

 

“And if I were to inform you that he is reigning as King of Asgard, what say you to that?” Halvar questions.

 

Jerrik freezes, and Halvar has to turn around when he realizes the sorcerer is no longer beside him. The two guards that flank the king ready themselves to do battle, but he holds up his hand to calm them.

 

“Loki is king now?” Jerrik asks. “I suppose that does make logical sense, yes. But this means they doubt Odin will wake anytime soon.”

 

“Precisely,” Halvar comments, pleased to see the man’s mind at work. He begins walking again, Jerrik trailing after him. “I am in the process of gathering the appropriate forces. I require your knowledge, Asgardian. Of both the best entrance to the _grand_ city, as well as its new mockery of a ruler. Speak with my councilman in the next room.”

 

The king stops walking, and motions to the door to the side of the hall. Jerrik looks at him in confusion. “I do not speak with you, sir?”

 

“Not today,” Halvar replies smoothly, signaling one of his guards to remain with the sorcerer. “I have a few meetings to attend.”

 

The king turns and strides away, preparing himself mentally for who he will make contact with. It will take dark magic, such as what he has promised to Jerrik. He trusts his few sorcerers to do what is required of them to make this happen.

 

He will have to conduct himself carefully, make grand vows and convincing compromises, in order to get what he desires.

 

\---

 

“So, people are vanishing into the desert, and you expect me to just sit around here and listen to you guys talk?” you question, frowning at the pair of scientists.

 

“What would you do?” Erik asks. “I think we’re all under the assumption that the disappearances are due to _unusual_ _circumstances_. You can't take Thor along with you, and if you're right in saying those creatures were after him, then why leave him with us when we can't protect him? And why risk leading _them_ back here?”

 

Yes, it's logical, but it's not what you want to hear.

 

“I would accompany you,” Thor says quickly. “Perhaps the people of the government have cleared away from Mjolnir. We can return, and I can try once more.”

 

You ignore him, replying to Selvig instead. “I'm so sick of being cooped up here. Come on, people disappearing in the desert? Why would I _not_ want to go check that out?”

 

Jane says your name, drawing your attention to her as she sits at the lab table. “You really think S.H.I.E.L.D. wouldn't try to snatch you up? I’d bet any sum of money that they’re dying to study you two. I’m sure they're watching. And if you try to leave? How do you think they'd react?”

 

“I don't know,” Darcy says, shrugging as she tucks her phone into her pocket. “I think they’d have stormed in here by now if that was their plan.”

 

“Right,” you agree, nodding at her.

 

“Why do the work yourself when others do it for you?” Erik asks under his breath, watching as Jane tucks another page of notes into a folder.

 

The other scientist misses the question. “That doesn't mean you should go,” Jane states to you, shaking her head.

 

_You just don't want to lose a lab experiment._

 

You don't say it aloud, but you glare at her and roll your eyes. But still, you know they've won. It all comes down to Thor. Without his power, he's weak and – quite frankly – useless.

 

_Then leave him._

You jump slightly and narrow your eyes. Your guard has been down concerning Loki as of late, which makes the bonded magic between the two of you stronger. _I wasn't talking to you. Stay out of my thoughts, asshole._

 

“Just… fine. Whatever,” you concede, crossing your arms and turning to Thor. “We have to figure out what makes you worthy of your hammer, Thor. I'm losing my fucking mind with all this domestic shit.”

 

\---

 

“Loki! We must speak with you at once. Please.”

 

He looks up at the sound of Sif’s voice, his eyebrows rising. Loki is casually sitting upon Odin’s golden throne, wearing his ceremonial armor to see to the evening’s audiences. He holds Gungnir in his fist, as his ‘father’ once had. “Ah, my friends. It has been too long.”

 

Sif does not like the way the new king smiles down upon them. Volstagg peers up at Loki after trading a glance with Hogun. “Where is the Queen?”

 

“My mother refuses to leave Odin’s side,” Loki replies, propping his head on his hand as he leans on the arm of the throne. “She fears he’ll never wake.”

 

“You don't sound too concerned,” Fandral notes under his breath.

 

Loki catches the comment, but deigns no response. Sif takes a step towards him, her urgency emboldening her. “We would speak with her.”

 

“As your king, I must insist you bring this matter to me,” Loki tells them casually, although his green eyes are dangerously intense.

 

The Warriors Three and Sif exchange glances, and finally the woman says, “We would ask that you end Thor’s banishment. Surely you wish to see your brother return home more than we do.”

 

Loki arcs a dark eyebrow. He understands the message beneath the request: _Why haven't you done so already_? “Can you imagine word in the streets if I was to undo the last command Odin gave before falling into his Sleep? The people loved Thor, yes, but they _respected_ my father. In this precarious time – on the brink of war, no less – the people of Asgard require a shred of continuity in order to feel safe.”

 

“You mean to leave him on Midgard?” Volstagg asks, aghast. “Rendered powerless in the realm of mortals?”

 

“Thor brought this upon himself,” Loki says coldly. “Count yourselves lucky that none of us accompanying him were afforded the same fate.”

 

“You can't be serious,” Fandral states incredulously. “He's your own blood, Loki!”

 

Loki considers the four before his throne, the smile freezing on his face, his cordial tone slightly strained. “We may be on familiar terms, but I will remind you all that I am now king. Our realm’s customs and formalities still apply.”

 

“Of course,” Sif tells him stiffly. “Pardon us. We are still adjusting to the circumstances. But Loki… sire,” she adds, “have you even heard word from him?”

 

“As a matter of fact, I have,” he replies, sitting up and leaning forward slightly as he grins. “Believe it or not, Thor has quite taken to Midgard. Most likely, I’d guess, due to the woman who currently houses them.”

 

Sif is taken aback, her eyes widening. Volstagg notes the plural term, and asks, “Them? So your foreigners live.”

 

The smile almost leaves Loki’s face at the comment. “Indeed. The warrior assists my brother, if that brings any peace of mind to the lot of you. She tells me he's adjusting well, happily spending more and more of his time with the mortals.”

 

Again, Sif’s face betrays her to the king. He feigns compassion, meeting her eyes with sympathy. “Oh, now, don't be disheartened, Lady Sif. I'm sure my brother’s rooftop stargazings with the mortal woman will pass. But even so, you have an advantage – their lives are but a blink of the eye, are they not? What’s a good seventy years to any of us? He's sure to think of you again… eventually.”

 

There are words that run through the four friends’ minds that are sure to land them in the dungeons are they to release them; one cannot call the reigning king of Asgard such phrases and expect to be pardoned. Sif immediately turns on her heel to storm out of the throne room, not bothering to say anything more.

 

But unfortunately for her, she is not of royal blood. Were this Thor and Odin having their usual spats, the guards would not have spared a look at the furious prince. This evening, however, they step forward and bar the way, waiting for signal from their king to allow the angry woman passage.

 

“I hope you have not taken offense, my lady,” Loki calls to her from his place on the throne. “Of course, I meant to console. I do apologize if I’ve upset you in any manner.”

 

“Not at all,” Sif replies tightly.

 

“May we go?” Hogan asks before any of his enraged companions can speak.

 

The king thinks briefly on the question, and then nonchalantly states, “You are dismissed, yes.”

 

At once, the guards return to their previous positions, allowing Thor’s friends to leave the throne room. Loki’s eyes follow them as they go, a smirk sliding onto his face as he watches them walk through the grand doors.

 

He'd been expecting this encounter, and it was _just_ as delightfully satisfying as he had imagined it would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate title: Loki Shits All Over Thor's Friends Because He Can And Why The Fuck Not


	17. An Unfortunate Decree

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As of right now, I have no idea if this fic is going to be shorter than OSE or about the same length. BUT. Either way, we'll see!

Clint Barton lifts his hand to his ear, pressing the button on his earpiece. “Coulson. I found one.”

 

The creature is feeding on a corpse, the squelching and crunching sounds making Clint’s lip curl. He doesn't want to think about what the body used to be – animal… or human?

 

“Just one?” Phil’s voice asks.

 

Barton knocks an arrow, peering carefully down the shaft from his vantage point on the ridge. “Yep. Just one. But I'm sure the others are nearby. What do you want me to do?”

 

He waits patiently, keen eyes taking in every minute detail of the alien beast. _What the hell kind of thing **is** it_? The dead monster S.H.I.E.L.D. had confiscated from the crash site had somehow rotted within twenty-four hours. Clint hadn't heard any of the information the lab had gotten off of it; he didn't care to. All he knows is that he much prefers the bastards dead than alive, that’s for damn sure.

 

The monster below him has front legs that grasp and tear at the flesh of the corpse. It sits back on its haunches, gnawing on a hunk of meat with large, translucent teeth coated in dark blood. It’s unnatural enough that even Clint feels himself grow a little nervous at the sight of it. And he's seen a lot of twisted things.

 

A lot.

 

“Do you have a shot?” Phil questions.

 

Barton narrows his gaze and zeros in on one of the creature’s bright, yellow eyes. “Yeah, I got a shot.”

 

“Try to wound, but don’t kill it – if you can. Get it running back to where it belongs. Then we’ll find the others. There's at least two more out there. Hopefully, that’s the last of them.”

 

“If I can?” Clint scoffs, taking aim. “Is that doubt I hear, sir?”

 

“Don't know what you mean,” Phil replies, and Clint can hear the smile in his voice.

 

\---

 

Selvig sits in the lab with Thor, who stares at the table deep in thought. It’s almost time for Erik to leave for the night. He glances up at Thor, the supposed ‘god of thunder’, and asks, “You mentioned returning to the crater. Surely that girl could get you there. Are you… putting it off?”

 

Thor’s blue gaze lifts to Erik as he grimaces. “Are all humans on Midgard as observant nowadays?”

 

“No, not all of us,” Selvig replies. He waits.

 

Thor looks away for a brief moment. “I… I am afraid of failing,” he admits quietly. “I was so sure of myself, you see. I have lifted Mjolnir a thousand times and more, it never crossed my mind that I….”

 

_Unworthy._

The word still rings loudly in his mind. He cannot escape it; whenever the war hammer slips through his thoughts, he hears it. “I had it all backwards,” Thor says, shaking his head. “I had it all wrong. For the first time in my life… I truly have no idea what I’m supposed to do.”

 

Erik watches the man carefully, noting with a hint of surprise that he does indeed seem very lost. “Admitting that you don’t have all of the answers isn’t a bad thing,” he finally says. “Fear is a natural emotion, you know. Especially when you get the rug pulled out from under your feet. And when people find themselves in a situation they don’t know how to get out of, that’s usually when they start asking the right questions.”

 

“The only questions I can think of have no answers,” Thor replies, looking again to the tabletop.

 

“There’s answers,” Selvig states, shrugging his shoulders as he stands up. “There always is. Sometimes, they’re just not as easy to find as you want them to be.”

 

\---

 

The Hunter is irritated, the ongoings of the evening making him grind his teeth in annoyance. The humans are starting to get in the way of his mission, and that simply will not do. The bowman’s arrow plunged straight into the flesh beneath one of his monster’s eyes. They saw what you did. They learned from you.

 

Judging from what he witnessed of your power, he knows you are not a being to be trifled with. But you’ve yet to fight _him_.

 

You’re in his way. The humans are in his way. He’s sent his beasts in different directions through the desert to draw the agents away from him. The Hunter cannot be sure whether they know of his presence, but he’s not willing to risk it. Breaking camp hadn’t been difficult; he’s always on the move, anyway.

 

He stares at the building across the way, at the wide, open windows that provide no privacy from searching eyes. It had not been hard to find, and the Hunter is almost offended at the target’s utter disregard for safety. Windows are easily broken. There is no solace here.

 

He can see the man, chatting with a human woman as they sit across a table from one another. There’s movement in the back of the room, so he guesses there’s another person present. He wonders if the humans will become casualties as well, once he makes his assault in the upcoming days. Once the agents are dealt with. Once his beasts return to him. Once his eye no longer throbs with his heartbeat, his sight more than just blurry shapes of color.

 

And then his gaze slides over to the other side of the room, and through the windows he sees you.

 

Staring back at him.

 

\---

 

“Stay here,” you state seriously, opening the glass door and stepping outside.

 

“What’s going on?” Darcy asks from the kitchen, but you ignore her and close the door behind you.

 

You haven’t taken your eyes off the odd person, dressed in a way that exposes none of their skin. There is something off about the situation; something here is familiar to you.

 

 _Unnatural_.

 

You find yourself searching the street for the yellow-eyed beasts, your mind linking them to this figure by feeling alone. You keep your distance, although you draw close enough to talk. “You just going to stare at us all evening, or are you going to say something?”

 

You wait, staring at the glint of the stranger’s dark glasses in what remains of the dying light. Until finally, he speaks. “We know you. Or… of you.”

 

His voice sounds strained, as if he growls his words. There’s still quite a bit of distance between the two of you, but you have no problem hearing every low syllable. Your fingers twitch, and you feel the urge to summon your weapon. But you hold back. “Who are you?”

 

A car passes in between the two of you on the road, briefly obscuring your view of the stranger. When the rumble of the vehicle finally dies away, the man tucks his gloved hands into his coat pockets. “Don’t think that matters,” he states, scarf shifting as his lips move. He’s silent for a moment, and then he says, “You have a friend, don’t you?”

 

“What?” you ask, your heart starting to pick up.

 

“They said you had a friend. And we have a job to do. So, you can either let us do our job… or things start to get serious. We don’t want to hurt her. Let me pass right now, and this can all be over.”

 

 _What the fuck? Who is this crazy asshole? Is he talking about Will?_ You try to keep your thoughts straight, but it’s hard. A part of you wants to launch yourself across the street at him, and just take him out right here in town. But there’s a large truck quickly approaching, headlights lighting up the dusky evening.

 

“Whatever ‘job’ you’re talking about…. Go do it somewhere else,” you finally state coldly. “If I see you again, I’ll kill you.”

 

The decision is made. His attempt to threaten you has failed. He prepares himself to return to the desert, to deal with the agents that search for his beasts. As promised, he’ll send one of the monsters to track your friend. And then he’ll return with the remaining two of the pack to see both his personal and his original mission completed.

 

“Then we’ll see you soon,” he replies simply.

 

The truck drives by, red metal blocking your line of sight. You prepare yourself for an attack, a surprise ambush of some sort, once it passes.

 

Instead, you find yourself looking at an empty place where the man once stood.

 

\---

 

Sif and the Warriors Three stand on the training grounds. The sun will soon give way to Asgard’s moons, but still, the friends cannot bring themselves to make for the feast hall. Even Volstagg has not said a word on the matter, the usually jovial warrior deep in troubled thought.

 

“We know what we have to do,” Sif states into the quiet. “We’ve talked ourselves in circles around it, but we know. We’re just too damned afraid to do it.”

 

“Such a thing is treason,” Fandral says, shaking his head.

 

“Treason? To hell with treason. You speak of suicide!” Volstagg exclaims.

 

“We must go,” Hogun speaks up. “We must find Thor. As his comrades in arms, it is our duty to assist him.”

 

“Call it what you will – duty, honor, all those niceties – but it’s still _treason_ ,” Fandral objects. “I doubt our new king would be so forgiving.”

 

“Would Thor not do the same for us?” Sif questions hotly.

 

The other two fall silent. The answer to that is obvious to all present. Volstagg caves first, sighing heavily. “He would, yes, we know it. Damn it all, alright.”

 

“We’ll have to be careful, you know,” Fandral says to the group, echoing Volstagg’s sigh. “We’ll need a plan. The only way to Midgard is through Heimdall, and I much doubt the Gatekeeper wishes to be an accessory to treason.”

 

“Perhaps there is a time we can converse with him,” Sif tells them, thinking carefully. “When Loki is distracted.”

 

“Kings are usually distracted,” Volstagg offers.

 

“When we go, we cannot stay long,” Hogun states. “If he spoke truly about the warrior accompanying Thor… then Loki will know when we arrive.”

 

The thought is sobering to the group, as they all realize the current king could easily bar them from ever returning home.

 

“Let’s think about it in steps,” Fandral suggests, clearing his throat. “First step? Speak with the Watcher. And pray to the fates that he doesn’t turn us in.”

 

“I will go tomorrow, at midday,” Sif decides, nodding her head. “Everyone should be dining, and none will be the wiser.”

 

“We will accompany you, Lady Sif,” Volstagg tells her.

 

“No, no,” Sif objects. “If I fail, I will surely be sent to the dungeons to rot.”

 

“And we shall rot there with you,” Fandral says assuredly, hiding his anxiety and giving her a lopsided grin.

 

\---

 

Hammond is nervous. He had not liked bearing bad news to Loki as a prince, and now as king, the task seems even more daunting. The other councilmen had told him that they were ‘entrusting’ the undertaking to him, as he was held in high regard by the king. The compliment was, of course, hollow.

 

Loki has found that a king’s chores are never truly accomplished. There is always something else to do, someone else to meet with, something else to approve or disapprove. He’s quickly beginning to understand why Odin never had a minute to spare, hardly able to find a moment to even eat with his family.

 

It is because a king’s time is precious, and there are many who seek it.

 

Loki sees Master Hammond approaching from the corner of his eye, and looks up from the library table. He’d thought he’d had a small amount of free time to himself, although the sight of the sorcerer begs to differ. “Hammond,” Loki greets, marking his place in his book ( _Rare and Unusual Arcana, Vol. III_ ) with a finger.

 

“Sire,” Hammond replies, bowing low in the presence of the king. “Have you a moment to speak with me?”

 

“You may sit,” Loki tells him, returning to his novel. “What is it?”

 

Hammond lowers himself into the chair at the side of the table and pulls the piece of folded parchment from his robe pocket. “Sir, I’ve just been to my day’s council meeting. They’ve asked me to brief you before you sit with us tomorrow.”

 

“Brief me?” Loki asks, eyes still on his own book. “Over what, might I ask?”

 

Hammond doesn’t want to say it aloud. He’s known the man for years, _years_ , and still things such as this are never easy. “Sire… well… I’ve been informed… you see….” He fumbles with the paper he holds, unfolding it as if it will help him explain.

 

“What is it?” the king asks, finally looking up from his novel in irritation. “What do you have?”

 

He stretches out a pale hand, and Hammond dutifully places the paper into Loki’s palm. “It’s conditional, sire, upon whether your father wakes within four months or not. They’ve requested I give this to you, so that you may ask any questions about them upon our next meeting.”

 

“Them?” Loki’s green eyes flicker across the page, scanning… a list of names? “What is this?” he asks, brow furrowed. “I know these kingdoms, yes, but what of the names?”

 

“They’re… ah… women, my lord,” Hammond explains hesitantly.

 

“Women?” Loki repeats.

 

“Women,” Hammond affirms.

 

The library is quiet, save for the muffled sounds of footsteps that echo in from the hallway. Loki’s thoughts tumble to a halt as his sharp mind makes the connection.

 

“I’m to marry? Within four months?” Loki questions, staring at the list in his hands.

 

“Unless Odin awakens, yes,” Hammond says quickly. “As it stands currently, you’re the last of his line. It would be best to choose diplomatically, sir, is what the other councilmen have told me. They say they’ll answer any questions about the proposed women tomorrow.”

 

Loki stares at Hammond a moment, and then his eyes snap back to the list. He shakes the paper slightly, his expression hard to decipher. “This is not a new document, is it?”

 

“I imagine they had it drawn up for your brother, my lord,” Hammond tells him. “Although under those circumstances, I understand he had more time allotted before he was to be wed.”

 

“I’m to _marry_?” Loki asks again after a moment, his tone incredulous this time.

 

“One of those women, yes,” Hammond says, swallowing hard.

 

“One of these women,” the king echoes, looking back to the foreign names on the list.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *loudly clears throat*  
> Well  
> There's that


	18. Alone with a Ghost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess this can be counted as 'sad fluff'?  
> Who knows lol  
> Not me

Sif walks towards the golden observatory, her heart beating loudly in her chest. However, her feet continue to step forward across the rainbow bridge, her determination outweighing her fear. She’s already accepted her fate if the Gatekeeper does not look favorably upon the bold request.

 

The Warriors Three stride beside her, identical serious expressions on their faces. Each step brings them closer to the Watcher, who stands before the observatory. His countenance betrays no form of emotion as he watches the four approach. They finally stop in front of him, none sure of what to say.

 

“Heimdall,” Sif begins, but the Seer cuts her off.

 

“Companions of the prince, you are aware that an act such as this would be considered treason by our king.”

 

“We know,” Hogun states. “But it is our duty.”

 

“Is not your duty to Asgard?” Heimdall asks, bright eyes locking onto the man.

 

“It is, Gatekeeper,” Volstagg answers, dipping his head.

 

Heimdall is silent for a moment, before saying, “As is mine. And thus, I shall inform you that an attack is mounting against our kingdom. Until their forces are broken, I cannot let you pass.”

 

“The barbarians are hardly a force to be reckoned with,” Fandral rebuffs, waving his hand dismissively. “We’ve heard these reports with the rest in the barracks. We know.”

 

“Don’t take my words lightly, warriors,” Heimdall cautions, fixing them with a golden glare. “It is more than that. There is something else at work here. Something I cannot see.”

 

The statement makes those present uneasy. Yet more things a Watcher cannot see? The thought is unnerving. “But….” Sif’s word trails off into silence as Heimdall looks to her.

 

“He is safe for now, Lady Sif,” the Seer tells her. “Once the same can be said for Asgard, come to me once more.”

 

\---

 

As evening falls, you pace in front of the wide windows of Smith Motors. You didn’t care for them in the first place, but now you especially despise them. You feel exposed, but until the rest of the group goes to sleep, you’ll stay in the lab with them.

 

Your paranoia is spiking again. It hasn’t been bad in a long time. Not since… not since Loki, if you’re being honest with yourself. But now… it's just you. You're the responsible one here. Thor can't do shit to help you against something like this. And everyone else around you is… human.

 

It took a lot of convincing for Jane to sleep inside the walls of Smith Motors. You just don't feel like her RV is safe anymore. The windows of the lab are a weak point, but an RV away from the rest of the group? Even worse.

 

Selvig has been staying in a hotel nearby, and you've been pushing for everyone to get out of town. You yourself feel the need to go to New York, one way or another. You've written to Willow and told her about the threatening stranger… but the fact that the two of you are separated still makes you nervous.

 

You're… alone.

 

“You are still worried, warrior?” Thor asks from his seat, stretching his legs out. “Did that man truly frighten you?”

 

“It didn't feel right,” you answer, shaking your head and turning around to face him. “I'd rather be paranoid than dead.”

 

Thor chuckles, but you don't laugh. Jane glances up at you. “I brought my mattress in. Like you asked.”

 

“You really think something might happen?” Darcy questions, leaning across the lab table. “Like, you couldn't even see his face or anything?”

 

“No. Trenchcoat just threatened me and disappeared,” you reply, shaking your head. “Either way, I don't trust it. Like I said, he was talking about a target.”

 

“Which we guess is you,” Jane says, nodding her head towards Thor.

 

You're tired of this conversation. You've all had it too many times, talking in circles about the same thing. There's no new information to be had. You've been over the words Trenchcoat said to you a million times now.

 

And so you wait. You stare out the windows while Jane, Thor, and Darcy talk. It takes a long while before Jane starts yawning, and Darcy’s eyes drift closed. At last, they rise from their seats and say they should rest. You've dragged your makeshift bed into the main lab area as a precaution.

 

Nothing is getting by you tonight.

 

“I'll be down the hall if I'm needed,” Thor tells the three of you, although you note he especially locks eyes with Jane.

 

“Thanks,” Darcy says, stretching her arms above her head. “G’night.”

 

“See ya’,” you state, giving Thor a salute.

 

“Goodnight,” Jane says to him, and finally he grins. As he disappears down the hall, she turns to her intern. “Alright, let’s get some sleep. We have data to run tomorrow.”

 

“Yay,” Darcy replies sarcastically, holding her hands up in false excitement. She looks over at you. “You sure you want to spend the night out here?”

 

“I'm good,” you answer. “Otherwise I'll just be stressed out, alone in my room.”

 

“Alright, then,” Jane says, worrying her lip. “Try to get some rest.”

 

“Yeah, I will,” you lie, giving them a smile as the two turn to go.

 

Quiet falls over the large room. The single lamp on the table illuminates a small portion of the area when you shut the lights off. You stand near the wall, where your bedding is, as your eyes adjust to the darkness.

 

The silence is daunting.

 

You carefully sit on your makeshift bed, leaning back against the wall with your gaze still trained on the windows.

 

There’s something out there. You swear you see it, a mass of shadow stalking between the alleyway across the street. Golden eyes staring straight back at you.

 

”Not tonight, fuckers,” you mutter. “Go away. I’m watching.”

 

You know it cannot hear you, but it feels good to work out some of your anger (or rather, your fear, although you hide it with anger).

 

The eyes blink and the shadow slouches away, circling around the building across the street, loping back towards the desert....

 

“Anything yet?”

 

The voice makes you jump, and you’re halfway to your feet wth a dagger formed in your hand before you realize it's just Loki.

 

“ _God_ , don't _do_ that,” you hiss through your teeth, settling back down and dismissing your weapon. “If you were really here, I would've gone ahead and stabbed you.”

 

“Always so exciting,” he says, smirking. The king walks around the lab, eyes taking in the different folders and notes Jane has left out. “Reduced to nothing more than a lab subject, I see,” Loki comments, reading a few sentences on a loose page.

 

“I guess,” you grumble, glancing between him and the window.

 

He turns back to you, the smirk sliding off his face. “Something has… come up.”

 

“What is it?” you question, noting the shift to seriousness.

 

He stands before you, suddenly unable to meet your gaze. You watch him carefully, and then your eyes snap to the window. He glances behind him to the front of the room, noting quickly that nothing is there. “Are you alright?” he asks. “Why do you rest in here tonight?”

 

“First of all, you're diverting,” you note, smirking slightly. “Second of all, I'm okay. I told you what happened. So, I'm out here tonight to be the first line of defense if something goes wrong. Well… the only defense, I guess.”

 

This disturbs him. “You'd not have the others in here as well?”

 

You shake your head. “What good would that do?”

 

He considers the questions for a moment. “They could pose as a distraction. Alternate targets for an attacker.”

 

“Yeah,” you admit, sighing, “but I'm looking to keep them _alive_.”

 

“You can still reconsider that point,” he says.

 

You ignore him, and instead pat the place beside you. “Sit with me? Just for a bit?”

 

He quirks an eyebrow. “You do remember that I'm not truly present?”

 

“Yes, I remember.”

 

A few more seconds pass before he fulfills your request, sitting on your ‘bed’ beside you. As usual, the covers do not shift, and you can feel a chill where your shoulder almost touches his. “It's like you're here, but you’re not,” you say quietly. “I hate it. If I had my abilities… I’d want to come see you right now.”

 

“That would be unwise,” he states. “We both know you’d want to come back. And I'd do whatever I could to stop you from returning.”

 

Your lips pull up into a half-smile, which tugs at the king’s heart. You're staring out the front windows, but your eyes briefly cut to him as you ask, “So, what is it you wanted to talk about? You said something has come up?”

 

He finds himself at a loss for words. “Yes,” he says. “Yes. We’ve… discovered that the thing nullifying your power comes from a magical source.”

 

“Whoa, really?” you ask, momentarily distracted from your window watching.

 

Was Loki truly in the same room as you, he’d put his arm around you. He knows you'd rest your head upon his shoulder; he can almost feel the familiar weight of it. He studies your face, the intriguing color of your eyes, the details of your expression as you look at him.

 

_Are you entertaining this mad thought, fool? There are millions of women… and only one throne._

 

He's silent for a second too long before he remembers to reply. “Indeed. The arcana is old, and difficult to perform. It would be easier to trace, were we truly in one another’s company.”

 

“Yeah,” you agree quietly, scanning the window and pulling your knees up to your chest. “Yeah, that would be nice. Instead of… this.”

 

“Elaborate,” he says curiously.

 

You're quiet. “It's like I said before…. You're a ghost,” you finally tell him softly. “You're not really here, and I'm not really there, and it sucks. I just… I miss you.”

 

“Call for Heimdall,” he urges you. “I am king now. I can bring you home. Hel, I'll fetch your friend, if that's what it takes.”

 

“If I leave, Thor dies,” you tell him quietly. “You know that, right?”

 

He doesn't reply, and the both of you stare out the windows for a long time. And Loki thinks. In his mind, one of those yellow-eyed beasts bursts through the glass, snarling and salivating as its muzzle pulls back to bear its gruesome teeth. He sees it set upon you while you sleep, claws tearing at your flesh and teeth snapping closed around your neck. It shakes its head, jerking you from side to side, although there's no more life left in your eyes….

 

And he shudders.

 

“I don't like this. I don't like that you choose to sleep in this room tonight,” he says.

 

“Well, if it's any consolation, I doubt I'll be sleeping,” you reply. “I mean, yeah, I'm tired. But I’d rather stay alive. Hopefully nothing happens.”

 

Your callous tone reminds him of how you used to sound, back when you had wanted to forfeit your life. “Are you afraid?” he asks in a hushed whisper.

 

You want to laugh the question off, and you smile out of reflex. But when you answer, it mirrors Loki’s tone. “Yeah. Sounds stupid, I know.”

 

“I'll sit with you, then,” he answers, stretching his legs before settling again.

 

“You don't need to do that,” you say, rolling your eyes. “You have king things to do tomorrow. Can't have a tired man running a kingdom.”

 

“I'll be tired either way,” he counters offhandedly. “I find it hard to rest most nights.”

 

“Yeah?” you ask, smirking slightly. “Miss me that much, huh?”

 

He tilts his head and looks over at you. Tomorrow will be hard. He can’t bring himself to add on to your worries right now.

 

“Yes,” he replies honestly. “Yes. I do.”

 

\---

 

Asmund steps through the entrance of the sorcerer’s guild, the same feeling of nervousness settling in his stomach as it had upon his first visit. Word of the boy-sorcerer has spread, and there are a few of Loki’s men and women who acknowledge him with a curious stare or whisper. He's quickly approached by a woman he has not seen before.

 

“What business do you have here, young one?”

 

“I've come to seek audience with the king, or his man, Hammond,” Asmund tells her in a voice that betrays none of his apprehension.

 

“ _Master_ Hammond is busy. You've just missed him; he makes for the palace, has a very important meeting. As for the king, I much doubt –”

 

Asmund is no longer paying attention. “Of course. I thank you for your time.” He bows low to the sorceress, and then turns on his heel.

 

“Peculiar boy,” the woman mutters to herself, shaking her head before continuing on her way to the training area.

 

It is not hard for Asmund to spot Master Hammond. He spies the man’s blue robes from across the grounds, fluttering out behind him as he walks with purpose towards the grand, golden palace of Asgard. He stands out from those that mill around, chatting with one another.

 

“Sir!” Asmund calls as he nears the man. “Master Hammond!”

 

Hammond turns in surprise, blond eyebrows rising. “I say, I believe I know you.”

 

“Yes, we’ve met before,” the boy answers, bowing deeply. “I am Asmund, sir. Six months ago, the prince – king, now – allowed me entrance into the School of Sorcery.”

 

“Oh, yes, that's right,” Hammond states, resuming his hurried pace towards the palace. “Most unusual. And how's that going, then?”

 

Asmund keeps pace at the man’s side. “I graduated, sir.”

 

Hammond almost stops walking as he looks over in surprise. “Graduated? Already? You achieved the seven marks?”

 

“I did,” Asmund tells him, nodding. “I seek entrance to the guild, as I did when I first approached you. Might I speak further on the subject, with you or King Loki? At your convenience, of course.”

 

Hammond shakes his head, taking the steps up to the palace doors two at a time. “I cannot speak for the king. These are very busy times, boy, very busy. I myself am running behind today.”

 

“Another time, then?” Asmund pushes, hoping his desperation does not show. “What about tomorrow?”

 

“Tomorrow, then,” Hammond tells the boy, waving his hand dismissively. “In the evening. Although I make no promises. Graduation from the school does not grant you a place within our guild, you know.”

 

“I know,” Asmund affirms. “Thank you, sir.” He bows again, and the busy sorcerer shoots him a look of acknowledgment before he scurries away down the marble palace halls.

 

Asmund straightens, a smile slowly spreading across his face. It's been a while since he's truly smiled.

 

It feels grand.

 

\---

 

“They're definitely amassing their troops, although I see no threat,” Colborn comments.

 

“The Gatekeeper says there's more to it,” Egil states. “Something the barbarians are up to.”

 

“Either way, we keep our eye on them,” Loki says seriously. “I have a few in my guild who are very talented at gathering information. I’ll talk to them.”

 

“As you wish, sire.” Egil dips his head.

 

Hammond rushes into the room, carefully closing the door behind him. “Apologies, gentlemen. Training at the guild went long.”

 

Egil and Colborn both eye Hammond in irritation, but the king himself appears unbothered. “Take a seat, Hammond.”

 

The sorcerer takes his place around the table, pink flushing his cheeks from both embarrassment and his fast trek from the guild to the palace.

 

“Well, now that we’re all assembled, we can discuss other matters,” Colborn says dryly, and then turns to Loki. “My liege, have you any questions about what was presented to you yesterday? We do not require an official choice at this time, but it’s best to understand all options.”

 

“Ah,” Loki replies.

 

“Might I suggest our eastern neighbors,” Egil tells him. “Politically and strategically, it’s the best option. They had expected their princess to be wed to Thor, yes, but I have no doubt that they’ll accept the proposal.”

 

"These are still women, Egil,” Colborn retorts. “Do try to remember that. I’ve heard the eastern princess is rather… uncouth. Diplomatically, she is appealing, yes, but if our people do not accept her, then it would be for naught.”

 

“This is all hypothetical, though, isn’t it?” Hammond speaks up. “Odin could very well wake within the hour.”

 

“Of course,” Colborn says quickly, glancing over at the silent and stoic king before looking back to Hammond. “But it takes planning, sorcerer. We’d of course want the two to meet – a ball would be thrown upon her visit. And should the Allfather not wake, it will be imperative to have everything in order. Our hierarchy must be kept stable.”

 

“Have you any say, my king?” Egil asks. “Surely you have questions about your future bride?”

 

“It quite seems like everyone’s mind is made up,” Loki states, a slight edge in his voice. “As is mine.”

 

“Excellent!” Colborn exclaims, his shoulders visibly relaxing.

 

“Does this relieve you?” Loki questions, amused.

 

“It does, sire,” Egil tells him. “It does.”


	19. Welcome

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm excited for this, and I hope you guys are, too!
> 
> Let me take another moment to thank everyone for the comments, kudos, and now FANART. I NEVER EXPECTED FANART. Good Lordy, I'm still so shocked and awed and thankful to each and every one of you.  
> <3  
> I'm glad you guys still want to go on this journey with me. :) Because I'm having an absolute blast.

The Hunter walks slowly up the ridge as the morning light crests the horizon. The sands and shrubbery are bathed in the soft oranges and golds of the sun’s rays. He likes the feel of the morning. He always has. The crisp air makes him want to rid himself of his coat and scarf, something he only ever longs to do in the early hours of the day.

 

His eyes carefully scan the disturbed dirt on the ridge. The Hunter’s feet come to a stop, sending a few stones skidding down the slope. There's prints here, just as he guessed there would be.

 

Someone was laying here.

 

He kneels at the edge of the ridge, putting a hand to the ground and staring at the area below. The Hunter knows. He knows his camp from last night can be perfectly viewed from this position. He scowls, lips brushing against the fabric of the dark red scarf.

 

They've found him. They're probably watching him even at this moment. And he’s _impressed_. These agents have tracked him, even though he hasn’t had his beasts return to him at all over the past few nights.

 

If he's been made, then it is time to up the ante. He does not feel threatened; he’s confident that he’ll catch those that are after him. In fact, the Hunter finds himself smiling, lifting his hand and letting grains of sand run through his gloved fingers. It is much more fun to hunt those who know a bit of the game.

 

And from afar, Clint Barton’s sharp gaze takes in every movement of the figure on the ridge.

 

\---

 

You hear when Thor wakes. He’s always been an early riser. You rub your eyes and wait, moving from your bed to a chair at one of the tables. Eventually, Thor strides into the room, wavy blond hair tousled from his sleep.

 

“Good morning, warrior.”

 

“Hey, Thor,” you greet, exhaling heavily and leaning forward on the table.

 

“Did you sleep tonight?” Thor asks.

 

“Kind of,” you reply, shrugging.

 

“I shall sit vigil tomorrow,” he declares, taking a seat beside you. “These past nights have been hard for you. I can tell.”

 

“Very astute of you, Thor,” you remark, snorting. “But I'm fine. Really.”

 

“You don't trust me,” he accuses.

 

You give him a tired grin. “Buddy. What are you gonna’ do against something like that?”

 

“I can handle myself. You know I can,” he retorts, pointing at you.

 

“You didn't talk with this guy,” you reply, and you slowly shake your head. “Something’s wrong with him. And I’m super sure those freak-dog things are his. And yeah, you saw them, but not like I did. You didn't fight them. They'd rip right through you.”

 

“And without rest, they'll do the same to you,” he says smartly.

 

“I don't need sleep,” you inform him. “I'm good for a day or two. More if I have to.”

 

Thor says your name, fixing you with his blue stare. “You wear yourself out. Stop this. Accept help. I'm _offering_ , warrior. I _want_ to help.”

 

You raise your eyebrows. “You're serious, aren't you? You've been thinking about this.”

 

“I have,” Thor answers, nodding. “After all, there's been no sign of anything odd. Let me watch tonight. I have two lungs as good as any, I can call for assistance if need be.”

 

“Okay, okay, we’ll see,” you relent, smirking slightly and shaking your head. “You really are a boar, you know that?”

 

“A ‘boar’ or ‘boor’? He refers to me as both,” Thor notes, a hint of a grin crossing his features.

 

Your gaze finds the ceiling for a moment before you look back to the prince, smirk widening. You don't have to see the two words to know the terms he’s referring to. “You fit both.”

 

Thor chuckles, although he appears as if he’s considering something. “I do… don't I?”

 

Silence falls over the room, which allows you to hear movement from the back of the building. Someone else is awake.

 

“How fares my brother?” Thor questions after a moment.

 

“Tired,” you answer. “Just like the rest of us.”

 

“And Asgard?”

 

“Still standing,” you state, sitting back in your chair.

 

Thor falls quiet again, watching you as you stare out the front window. He clears his throat. “You’re very close, the two of you.”

 

“I guess.”

 

“I apologize… for my comment upon our arrival to Midgard. About you… ah… and Loki….”

 

“Don't worry about it,” you say, cutting him off quickly. “If we’re doing apologies… I guess I'm sorry I hit you. But you deserved it,” you add, which brings a small smile to Thor’s face.

 

“I did,” he states.

 

You look up at him. There's something in his voice, something you know all too well. “We’ll get back somehow,” you say softly.

 

Thor grimaces. “Perhaps…. What of my father? Does he still sleep?”

 

This is not a new question; he asks every day. “As far as I know,” you tell him gently. “Frigga still stays with him at all times.”

 

“Yes, that's good,” Thor mumbles, gaze on the table.

 

There’s more sound from the back of the building, although no one has appeared as of yet. You figure it's Jane, getting ready. Darcy, like you, would sleep all day if possible.

 

You can hear vehicles driving by outside, the sound of the rumbling engines hitting you with a bout of nostalgia. Your home planet was full of interesting machineries.

 

“Do you love my brother, warrior?”

 

The question catches you off guard. You fix him with a stare and ask, “So, what's the deal with you and Jane, huh?”

 

The prince purses his lips. “Fair. I'll not pry,” Thor answers with chagrin.

 

You hear footsteps, and your eyes lock onto the doorway over Thor’s shoulder. To your surprise, it's Darcy that shuffles through. “Hey,” she greets, yawning and stretching. “Guess we’re all still alive then, huh?”

 

You roll your eyes. This was what she said yesterday as well.

 

“Good morning, Darcy,” Thor greets after a final glance over at you. “It's good to see you up and about in the morning for a change.”

 

“ _Not_ of my choosing. Jane made me,” she responds, making her way to the kitchen. “Anyone want coffee?”

 

“Yes,” the both of you answer at once, and then trade almost identical grins.

 

\---

 

“Don't worry,” Sigrid says, stretching up to give Asmund a quick kiss. “You can do this. I have every bit of faith in you.”

 

“Thank you, Sigrid,” he replies, taking her hands in his for a moment. “I love you. I'll be back when I'm able.”

 

“I love you, too. Don't worry about us,” she says back, reaching up and brushing a lock of brown hair away from his eyes. “Just focus. I'll keep things going here.”

 

He puts a hand up to briefly caress her cheek, gives her an adorable lopsided smile, and then places a loving kiss upon her forehead. “I know you will.”

 

Asmund glances past Sigrid. “I’m heading out, Mother. If all goes well, I won't be back for a while.”

 

Brenna sits in the living room, listening to their goodbye as she keeps her hands busy folding clothes. She always has to be doing _something_ – when she’s still, her hands shake. “Alright, dear. I love you. I'll see you soon.”

 

Asmund looks away quickly, feeling disappointment settle in his heart. She's still so _detached_. He blames his father. Sigrid catches his eye, and gives him her bravest smile. “Go on, now. You don't want to be late.”

 

\---

 

He sits at his desk, head in his hands. It's quiet in the study, and he's grateful for that fact. It's been a while since he’s had some quiet. There's so much to do, and not enough time to do it in.

 

He hears footsteps and voices through the open door, and looks up just in time to spot a woman walking by, with a very familiar young man. Her eyes peer into the office as the pair pauses, and when she meets his gaze she seems immediately relieved. “Ah, Master Hammond, there you are.”

 

“So it appears,” he replies, closing his book and rising from his seat. “And what have we here, Master Toril?”

 

The woman has been running things at the guild while Hammond is busy with his new duties. Just as he is under Loki, she is Hammond’s next in command. She tucks a kinky strand of hair behind her ear and states, “This one here says he’s to see you today. About entering the guild.”

 

“Ah, yes,” Hammond answers, giving the pair a half smile. “It appears I _do_ have time for that, surprisingly. Come, let us walk.”

 

Master Toril takes a step back and inclines her head respectfully as Hammond passes. Asmund follows at once, muttering a quick “Thank you, madam!” as he goes.

 

The Master sorcerer leads him outside, towards the grounds at the back of the guild building. The few people standing in the area call out to Hammond before moving on or heading back inside. He acknowledges them with a casual wave of his hand, dark blue robe sleeve gathering at his elbow and revealing a fair amount of freckles.

 

“Remind me of your name again, boy,” Hammond says, finally turning to face Asmund.

 

“It’s Asmund, sir,” he answers. “I spoke with you yesterday?”

 

“Yes, yes. You want to join our guild. It's not often one so young has the audacity to approach the masters on a matter such as this. Yet I'm to understand this is your second attempt?”

 

“That’s correct,” Asmund agrees, feeling quite like his heart will beat out of his chest. “I know I'm young. But I'm capable, and I seek to learn and train. What better place is there than the guild?”

 

“There is no better place,” Hammond says confidently, grinning slyly. He takes a few steps backwards, and watches the boy carefully. “Only half a man grown, and you call yourself capable? How assured are you of your talent? Would you object to a test?”

 

“Of course not,” Asmund states immediately, and Hammond smiles widely.

 

“Delightful.”

 

There is a bright flash, and Asmund barely has time to cast a golden shield around himself before he feels a strong force collide with his magic.

 

“Now, look at that!” Hammond calls approvingly. “Not a bad block, boy, although I sense a weakness… here.”

 

Once the last word is spoken, a tendril of blue magic bursts through the gold, effectively shattering Asmund’s shield and pushing him backwards in the process.

 

“Pity,” Hammond comments, shaking his head and pursing his lips. “Let's take a step back, shall we? Can you break my hold?”

 

This is the one Asmund had trouble with in school. Nonverbal magic is difficult, but especially when another has a hold over you. The muscles in Asmund’s body seize at once, paralyzing him where he stands. It takes a very strong sorcerer with immense concentration to hold magic such as this for long periods of time.

 

Asmund focuses his mind, doing his best to clear his thoughts and think over the sound of his frantic heartbeat. He fights it, uttering spell after spell within his mind. The words quickly become a mantra that grows in volume and power, rising in tandem with his desperation.

 

Just when Hammond grows bored and raises a hand to release him, a flash of gold flares around Asmund’s arm, freeing only his hand from the other sorcerer’s bind.

 

“Nothing extraordinary, but acceptable, I suppose,” Hammond says, relinquishing his hold on the boy. “I'm assuming you can cloak yourself?”

 

“I can,” Asmund tells him, and swiftly vanishes from view.

 

“That will do,” Hammond states, nodding as he flexes his wrist to strip Asmund of his invisibility.

 

The feeling of power that rends his spell gives Asmund pause, although the voice of the man leaves him no time to think. “What of your elemency?”

 

“I have mastered each, sir. Top of my class.” Asmund internally cringes at the statement. He's never been one to brag, but it's imperative that he not undersell himself to this man.

 

His future depends on it.

 

“Mhm,” Hammond replies. “I heard from your instructors yesterday. They did speak very highly of you.”

 

Asmund has no time to reply.

 

_And your telepathy?_

The voice tears through his thoughts, breaking his mental wall with little resistance. It's nothing like his bond with Sigrid, who’s sweet tone feels as natural in his head as his own thoughts do.

 

He forces his inner voice towards the man in front of him. _Capable_ , _sir_.

 

Hammond’s mouth twists into a derisive sneer. “Barely a whisper.” He leaves out the fact that there has never been a newly graduated sorcerer able to project more than a _vowel_ into his mind before.

 

Hammond twitches a finger, and a shimmering blue shield forms before him. “Your turn, now, boy. As I did in the beginning. Do your worst.”

 

There are those, when told to ‘do their worst’, that subconsciously continue to hold back. Then, when asked to push further, they find that they have more to give.

 

Asmund is not one of those people. He gives his all at once, bright magic bashing against Hammond’s shield with so much force that the impact is audible. Hammond’s blond eyebrow rises, although he refuses to allow himself to be _impressed_.

 

Still, even with the power behind it, Asmund cannot break the sorcerer’s shield.

 

“I must say, that _was_ intriguing,” Hammond admits, canceling both his and Asmund’s spells with a casual wave of his hand. “Do you need a moment to recuperate?”

 

“No,” Asmund insists, although he knows his magical reserves are almost tapped. He's doing his best to stand up straight and breathe evenly. “I can continue.”

 

“Continue? You've lost, boy. I was told you received your seven marks in the School of Sorcery, yet you struggle immensely. And if you've lost to me, I cannot imagine our king accepting you willingly into the fold.”

 

“How could I _not_ lose to you?” Asmund asks boldly. “I face off against Asgard’s most powerful sorcerer.” The boy bows low, as is customary to do in the presence of royalty.

 

Hammond’s eyebrows rise. “Flattery will not grant you a place here. Have you forgotten who stands before you? It's not _me_ you speak of.”

 

“I know who I speak of,” the boy objects, upright once more. “And I know who stands before me. You are Loki, King of Asgard, Master of Sorcery.”

 

Hammond meets his gaze for a long moment before a smirk slides onto the sorcerer’s face. The illusion vanishes abruptly, robes of blue replaced with black and emerald ceremonial armor, blond hair becoming as black as night itself. Loki’s green eyes bore into Asmund’s blue, his grin thoroughly amused. “Good call, half-pint. When did you know?”

 

Asmund hears your nickname for him from the king’s lips, and he cannot help but smile. “When you unmasked me, as you did in the forest that night. I could sense your power then, and I've never forgotten it.”

 

“You're quite sharp,” Loki states, folding his arms behind his back. “But you must be aware that you have _much_ to work on.”

 

“I know, sire,” Asmund agrees. “Why do you think I sought audience with you once more?”

 

“Because you are an ambitious fool,” Loki tells him, shrugging. “That is why all come to me.”

 

“An ambitious fool that knows what he wants,” Asmund states, inclining his head. “I'll do whatever it takes, sir.”

 

Loki chuckles. “I have enjoyed this much-needed break, although I've other matters to attend to tonight.”

 

The king feels apprehension build in his stomach and chest, but he knows it's time. He's been avoiding this conversation with you for too long, as uncomfortable as the situation is. He had known Hammond would be busy with the council this evening, and had happily offered to meet with Asmund himself. He'd decided to pose as Hammond in order to obtain a bit of peace from those around him… peace and mischief.

 

But it is time to be king again, which is a role he gladly takes up once more. “Hear me, Asmund. You're young. We’ve a few youthful recruits, but none close to your age. You need to be aware of what exactly you're asking of me. This guild seeks knowledge and power. We train the best of the best, the most elite sorcerers in the realm. And we defend that realm with our lives. We are on the brink of war, boy. Do you understand that you'll see battle? That you may very well perish at the hand of our kingdom’s enemies?”

 

“I understand, sire,” Asmund replies, without even a hint of doubt in his voice. “I know what I’m signing up for, and I am fully capable of accepting the consequences. It would be a privilege and an honor to give my life for Asgard.”

 

Loki eyes the boy carefully. He's young, yes, but sixteen makes him a man able to craft his own decisions. The king shrugs. “Well, half-pint. I'll have Toril see to the official processings.” He grins slyly, noting the look of disbelieving awe that crosses the boy’s face. “Welcome to the guild.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter  
> Is gonna' be  
> ................  
> Yep
> 
> Alternate Title: Ya' done been Loki'd


	20. Words in the Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOBOY  
> I've been WAITING  
> SO LONG  
> TO GET TO THIS CHAPTER

It’s hard to fall asleep at first. You worry about Thor keeping watch in the main room, imagining the terrifying creatures bursting through the windows with Trenchcoat walking in after them. Would the god of thunder even have time to call for help? Several times, you almost get up and make your way back to the lab.

 

But after a good fifteen minutes, you’re out. You’ve been running on fumes for too long, and although you know you could’ve done more, your body has and always will crave sleep.

 

Still, even a quiet sound rouses you from your slumber. You have no idea what time it is, or how long you’ve been asleep, but you’re instantly on guard and forming your sword with a shout welling in your throat.

 

“Easy, now,” Loki insists, holding his hands up and rolling his eyes.

 

“Damn it, Loki,” you growl, letting out a huff of breath, your eyes still wide with adrenaline and panic. “You need to start announcing your presence or something,” you say, forcing yourself to relax and shooting him a glare. “For my sanity.”

 

“You have _Thor_ out there tonight?” Loki asks, ignoring your statement. “Seems rather pointless to me.”

 

Your heartbeat is slowly returning to normal. “That’s what I said, but he insisted,” you reply, shrugging and rubbing at your eyes.

 

“How noble,” the king states dryly. “Am I to understand you’re still Hel-bent on returning him to Asgard?”

 

“He can do whatever he wants,” you answer. “Once he gets his powers back, that’s up to him. I’m just trying to make sure he stays alive. Besides, I’m heading out in the desert tomorrow to put a stop to all this shit. I’m worried about Willow.”

 

“You worry too much,” he declares, taking a step towards you and crossing his arms. “Your friend is alive and well, and I’m sure her most _gracious_ host will help to ensure her safety if there’s need. And your target? I’ve seen him as well, on this very night. He plays a most unsatisfactory game of cat and mouse with Midgard’s government agents, in which neither is aware of who embodies the cat.”

 

“S.H.I.E.L.D. is on him?” you ask, surprised. “Damn.” This irritates you, although you figure you can find a way around it. You know you can’t risk running into _those_ fuckers again. “But hey, whatever keeps him busy. Do you know anything about Trenchcoat?”

 

Loki sneers at your nickname for the man. “Not yet. But now that I’ve seen him, I can more thoroughly look into it…. Although I’ve an unfortunate suspicion that it will take a lot to eliminate him. Thor will have to assist.”

 

“Good. He can punch him once and then immediately get annihilated,” you state sarcastically, rolling your eyes. “I’ll find a way to handle it. I’m not just going to sit around here. He threatened me. I’m going after him.”

 

“Or perhaps you come back to Asgard, and be done with all of this mortal nonsense,” Loki suggests.

 

“I can’t go back without Will, Loki. We’ve talked about this. I don’t have a way to get to her yet. My ability is still screwed up, and the Bifrost fucked with her power. Jane showed me a map, and New York is a hell of a lot farther away than I thought.”

 

“What if she doesn’t wish to leave?” he asks.

 

You narrow your eyes at him. “What?”

 

“It’s a simple, hypothetical question,” he replies smoothly. “What if she wants to stay on Midgard? Along with my simple-minded brother. Would you still insist upon remaining here?”

 

You stare at him as you think, the window’s moonlight casting dark shadows over his features. You look off to the side uncertainly as you say, “I mean…. If Will or Thor wanted to stay, I could respect that. If you’re worried about _me_ wanting to stay here, rest assured, that’s not happening. I may not fit in on Asgard, but it’s _immensely_ better than being on Earth.”

 

You can’t tell from his expression whether this has any impact on him or not. His gaze shifts around the room, as if he’s searching for something else to say. You know him enough to realize this action is indicative of Loki being nervous. “What is it?” you probe curiously.

 

“Does knowing of my true heritage… does it bother you? Is it a reason you refuse to come back to me?”

 

“No,” you answer incredulously, getting to your feet. This is the first time he’s brought up this topic since he told you in the first place. “Is that what you’ve been thinking?”

 

“It’s crossed my mind, yes,” he admits, tone nonchalant.

 

“You dumbass,” you say, sighing and shaking your head. “Why would that bother me? It’s like I said; you’re still you, right?”

 

“But perhaps you’d be better suited to a being more… relatively humanoid.”

 

“Look here,” you tell him, pushing your energy towards the ground in order to hover in the air in front of him. “Look at this. I’m not ‘human’. Humanoid on the outside, yeah, but where I come from, I was labeled a _creature_. My race was considered unnatural and dangerous. We were either looked down on or feared. ‘A people crafted by the gods, only to enact war and bring suffering.’ That’s what they said about us. So, no, I don’t really give a shit if you’re blue or not.”

 

Were this any other situation, he might have spared a laugh. Instead, he looks away, shaking his head. You cross your arms, looking down on him as you bob in the air. “What’s going on? What’s all this about?”

 

He takes another step forward. “It’s… it’s imperative that you return soon.”

 

“Why?” you ask, eyebrows rising.

 

He stares at you intensely, and then sighs. “I’ve been informed of a rather unsettling circumstantial decree involving the stability of Asgard’s hierarchy.”

 

“Just, tell me what it boils down to,” you state, shaking your head. “That’s too many words.”

 

He meets your eyes. “In short, I’m to marry. Soon.”

 

You continue to stare at him, expression frozen. The silence stretches on long past uncomfortable before you say, “Marry?”  


“Yes. Preferably someone who can further our kingdom diplomatically. I was provided a list.”

 

You find that you cannot answer, cannot formulate any kind of response. You simply carry on looking at him, listening to the nighttime ambience from beyond the small window. You’re already mentally withdrawing, rebuilding the wall you’d so carelessly let fall over the past year. “Huh,” you finally state. “Well…. Okay, then. That’s… yeah.”

 

“Ever so articulate,” he says, a slow smile spreading across his face.

 

The smile hits you hard. You had liked to imagine Loki cared about you, that he had the capability of such emotions, but a part of you had always known it would end like this. And while your default emotion to any kind of hurt is normally anger, this strikes deeper, delves into your heart and returns with apathy. “So…. So, I guess they’ve got you paired with some princess or duchess or something, huh?”

 

“That’s the entirety of the list, yes,” he tells you.

 

“Well, that’ll be good, then. I guess. For your kingdom and all that.”

 

“If Odin awakens within the next four months, the decree is moot,” Loki informs you. “Although I’ve already decided that won’t matter.”

 

 _You’re a dumbass!_ your mind jovially sing-songs at you. _Once again, shouldn’t have gotten involved._ “Okay,” you reply. “Well, I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say to that. You just telling me how it is, or what?”

 

“Have you forgotten that I’ve once more asked you to come home to me?” he questions, smirk successfully hiding his nerves. “It’s not said I _must_ wait the four months to be wed, we could do it sooner. It should be done sooner, in all actuality. I can’t imagine my father approving such a union.”

 

 _We_?

 

Now, your thoughts come to an abrupt halt for a much different reason. “Did you say ‘we’? As in…. What are you saying?”

 

“For one so witty, I’m surprised you have to ask,” he states, looking up at you. He figures you’ve definitely forgotten by now that your feet do not touch the ground. “I intend to marry you, warrior.”

 

It takes a moment. And then a moment more. “What?”

 

He steps towards you yet again, green eyes locking onto your wide gaze. “I’m king. While Odin sleeps, my word is law. They say I am to marry. I accept. They make suggestions – many suggestions – on who I should be bound to. And I disregard them.”

 

“Loki.” You finally find his name, your fists clenching and unclenching habitually as you mentally panic. “Marriage? I… I can’t be a… a _wife_ , a _queen_. Don’t you _know_ me?”

 

“I’d not make you a queen of politics and pleasantries, darling,” he tells you, flashing you a bright smile. “I’m aware you’re not a woman to be tied down. Keep your battles and adventures, or fight Asgard’s wars and stay by my side, whatever you wish. I’ll give it to you. All I ask is that you remain loyal to _me_. I’ve no interest in sharing.”

 

His words paint a picture within your mind’s eye, one that you’re sure comes from his own imagination. You blink the images away, forehead creased in worry. “I don’t think you understand what you’re asking. Are you serious about this, or are you just trying to piss Odin off even more?”

 

“Oh, I know what I’m doing,” he says, shrugging as he shoots you a sly look. “I’m doing what I want.”

 

“What about the list?” you ask.

 

“Fuck the list,” he answers at once. “Names, just names, with no substance behind them. Don’t think I ask this of you on a whim; I’ve thought this through, on countless occasions.”

 

Your once frozen thoughts are now racing. _Marriage_? That was something never in your plan for life. The people of your race rarely get married – freedom is an essential part of who you are. There are those that are bonded to one another, but something as official as _marriage_ is rare.

 

And _queen_? You already hate the word. You’re as far from _queenly_ as can be possible, always catching disapproving looks from Asgardians even as it is. You are distrusting of people, which makes you come off as distant or cold to those that don’t know you. And to be _queen_ of a kingdom you _don’t even belong in_ …. You’d be surprised if you weren’t assassinated within a week.

 

You can’t find any words, your mind a jumbled mess.

 

Loki draws closer, gaze flickering across your face. “If you need time, I understand. Although I find your silence troubling.”

 

“It’s just a lot,” you get out quietly. “I… I never thought…. I mean, I just…. My people don’t normally do the whole ‘marriage’ thing. And I don’t have anything that could help you, like those list girls, you know? I mean, you do know. Everyone knows. Family, land, money… nope, not me…. I guess I have a little money from bounties over the past few months, but they don’t really pay that well, and that’s not really the point….”

 

“You’re rambling,” he notes casually.

 

“The point is,” you say louder. “The point is, I don’t have shit for you. Why me? Just… just pick a list girl.”

 

“I don’t love ‘a list girl’,” he says. “I love _you_.”

 

You could’ve sworn your heart just stopped. ‘Stunned’ does not even begin to describe it. You feel your mouth pop open in surprise, your train of thought completely derailed. “You love me?”

 

“I do,” he answers, smirking at the look on your face. “Over half a year with me, and you act so surprised.”

 

_That word, that’s not a word that’s supposed to be applied to me._

 

“It’s just different hearing it, I guess,” you say, still trying to get a handle on yourself and your emotions. You’re… happy. It’s warm, and soft, and lovely. You don’t want it, but you can’t help it. “I’m bad at stuff like that…. But I….”

 

He grins, waiting expectantly. You feel a blush creep across your cheeks, and you cross your arms. And he laughs, the sound absolutely enchanting. “And you love me, don’t you?”

 

“I do love you, you bastard,” you admit, shaking your head and reluctantly grinning in embarrassment. “I tried not to, but I gave up.”

 

“That’s almost an exact echo of my own sentiment,” he answers, smirk spreading even wider. He waits a beat, and then states, “So, you love me.”

 

“I do, yeah,” you agree, which makes your face flush even more.

 

“Then won’t you marry me?” he questions, a winning smile across his face.

 

For once, you truly understand what people mean when they use the phrase ‘butterflies in my stomach’. “Yeah,” you hear yourself say, the word quiet and full of wonder, as if you can’t quite believe it yourself. “Yeah, I will.”

 

And his face – lights – up.

 

And he reaches out and pulls you to him, spinning you around a single time before setting your feet carefully on the ground.

 

And you gasp at the very _solid_ grip you feel on your waist.

 

“You… You’re _here_!” you exclaim in disbelief.

 

“Of course,” he replies casually, mischievous smirk quickly overtaking his joyous smile. “To not _truly_ be present when asking for a woman’s hand would be considered quite rude, I’d think.”

 

He barely has time to complete his sentence before you’re kissing him. Furiously. Any part of his face you can reach. Your fingers grasp the straps of his chest piece, pulling him down. “You _asshole_! You waited this entire time to let me know you were _here_ -here?!”

 

He chuckles, and then kisses your cheek, your jaw, and finally your lips. There’s a hunger in his earnestness, one you recognize all too well. “It was hard to resist,” he admits when he pulls back, “but worth the look on your face.”

 

You roll your eyes and he wraps his arms more securely around you. He’s pleased when you return the embrace, gripping his back as if you’re desperate to remind yourself that he’s real.

 

You feel yourself relax at the familiarity of him, something you’re loathe to admit comforts you. But you can’t help it. You’re lost in the way his fingers slip through your hair as he holds you, how he leans over to rest his head on top of yours. You’re reluctant to pull away, and he’s unwilling to let go, so the both of you stand together for a long moment.

 

“You bastard,” you mutter, tightening your arms around him. “I missed you.”

 

And he smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate Title: Unholy Fluff Chapter
> 
> UPDATE: Look at this hilarious thing Valiaris (GoddessofShitpost) drew, regarding Reader going wedding dress shopping with Will and Loki lmao  
> 


	21. Words in the Night: Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LIVE.  
> Life gets busy sometimes, but I'm back again lol.
> 
> Sooooo.  
> It's always said that fluff and smut are two sides of the same coin.  
> Actually, I'm bullshitting you. I made that up to say "Here's the smut that goes with the last chapter lol"  
> It was supposed to be one chapter, but it would've been waaaay too hella long.  
> Yep. I said 'hella'.

As Loki presses his lips to the side of your neck, you decide not to think about it – any of it. Not of the question he asked (something you were positive you'd _never_ hear) or your answer to him (something you thought you'd _never_ respond with). Not of what you'll say to Will. And definitely not of returning to Asgard, to all of the opposition awaiting you.

 

You have no disillusions of ease; this is going to be hard. You're not even sure you can do it.

 

Which is a very good reason to forget everything and just focus on how the fabric of his cloak feels beneath your fingers, how delightful you've come to find the scent of leather, how his breath tickles your ear when he chuckles darkly.

 

“A touching moment, yes, but I've still a promise to fulfill. I do hope you haven't forgotten.”

 

“Might need to remind me,” you tease, purposefully pressing closer against him.

 

You don't need reminding. You've been thinking about him one way or another every night, the vow in question sifting through your thoughts such as sands through an hourglass, counting down the seconds until it is to be made good on.

 

“Are you sure that’s how you want to play it, darling?” he cautions, grip tightening slightly in your hair.

 

“Don't make me ask,” you state, already tugging on the waistband of his pants. “I'm not in an asking mood.”

 

“Demanding of a king,” he notes, grinning dangerously as his cold fingers slide easily beneath your t-shirt. “But then again, I did promise.”

 

He thinks about the last time he took you, within the palace gardens. The quiet noise you make when he grips your breast is reminiscent of your hushed mewlings on the grounds that evening. But Loki, King of Asgard, is not in the mood for _quiet_.

 

“There's no reason to keep your voice down tonight, love,” he tells you. “Neither word nor sound can escape this room. I've seen to that.”

 

“Good,” you say, dropping to your knees as you fully free his hard length. “Then you can test it.”

 

It's not just your body that's appealing to him – it's your boldness, your confidence. That you know him by now, as much as another individual can.

 

And you know what he likes.

 

His fingers thread through your hair without his permission, gripping tightly when your warm lips wrap around him.

 

He's missed this warmth, the fire that you are. Your palms pressed to his skin underneath his clothing, they are each a source of burning heat. He wants more.

 

Loki’s ragged exhales hold more and more of his voice each time he watches your head bob, feels the flat of your tongue run up the underside of his shaft. Your fingertips press into his stomach and side, and they push down even harder when he slightly rocks his hips.

 

He cannot hold in a throaty groan when your teeth purposefully graze his sensitive head. He pulls you back, your lips freeing him, and he tugs your hair until you look up at him.

 

“If you're fond of the mortal garb, I suggest you be the one to remove it,” he growls, gaze raking noticeably over your body.

 

You know that look. You've lost undergarments to that look. “Give me a second,” you answer, attempting to detangle his hands from your hair.

 

“You have less than a second,” he informs you, impatiently watching as you lift your shirt up over your head.

 

So, naturally, you slow your movements, taking your time with your bottoms. His eyes catch on every piece of skin revealed, the moonlight filtering through the curtain swathing you in silver.

 

“You try my patience,” he hisses, narrowing his eyes at your smirk.

 

You know you've got him riled up; you can feel his lust. The bond between the two of you amplifies _everything_ when it comes to the bedroom.

 

As you figured, he quickly closes whatever little space there was between the two of you. His cool hands create chillbumps where they meet your skin, making you shudder involuntarily.

 

He's insistent now, roughly taking you down to your pitiful bed. As he removes his clothing, he scowls at the room around him. “Despicable realm. And you reside in such an abhorrent place.”

 

“Shut the hell up about the room,” you groan, reaching up to pull him over on top of you. “I couldn't give two fucks about where we’re at.”

 

He likes this. You're most eager, which only serves to fuel his desire. He casts a quick illusion, as he did on the night he was made king, so that it appears as if you both lay upon his bed.

 

You roll your eyes, but he senses that you like it. You miss Asgard. You miss him.

 

It's natural for him to settle over you, the feeling of your body beneath him absolutely tantalizing. He forces himself to wait, choosing instead to slip one of his hands down your front.

 

“I could take you gently, if you so choose to ask,” he croons, voice low and close to your ear.

 

“Do you want to?” you ask, sucking in a breath as his fingers deftly slip inside of you.

 

You feel teeth nip your ear, and instead of answering, he places kisses down your neck in time with the slow ministrations of his fingers.

 

But you have your answer. You can feel it in the primal thoughts radiating from the man above you. He pulls your hands from him, one at a time, and wraps his fingers around your wrists.

 

As he pins your arms securely above your head, his other hand quits its teasing and moves to the side of your thigh. He presses against you, causing your hips to buck and a small moan to escape you.

 

_So wet…._

 

His voice is quiet in your mind, but it's full of yearning, as if he couldn't help but say it. His mouth is busy kissing down your chest, making its way to your left nipple.

 

He circles it with his tongue before taking it into his mouth, lightly biting. His other hand leaves your thigh to grasp your right breast. The pleasurable sensation makes you struggle against his strong grip, makes you groan as your back arches upwards.

 

When your hips move, when you slide against him again, Loki immediately caves. No more waiting. His hand leaves your chest and returns once more to your groin, serving only to help line himself against your entrance.

 

He pushes roughly into you, growling out an expletive as he starts to instinctively thrust. You're fighting his grip, fingers clenching as you inhale sharply through your teeth.

 

The fingers on his free hand dig into your shoulder, and your steadily growing moans overtake the sound of skin slapping against skin.

 

He utters your name right next to your ear, drawing the syllables out. It feels good on his tongue… _you_ feel good. He can almost make himself believe you're home.

 

You can already start to feel yourself quiver, your muscles starting to tense in response to the brutal pace Loki’s set. You manage to wrench a hand free, and your fingers immediately fist in his hair. He bites down on your shoulder in response, his hips snapping faster and his other hand pinching your nipple painfully.

 

“F-Fuck,” you gasp, your head tilting back against the mattress. “ _Fuck_ , Loki.”

 

“Oh, no, not yet,” he states, delighted. He pulls away from you, and in a single, easy movement, flips you over. “I believe I had you restrained. If anyone's pulling hair, it's me.”

 

“You bastard,” you growl angrily, but already he has your hips in the air.

 

He waits a second, as he always does; a chance for you to deny him. When neither your lips nor your mind tell him otherwise, he slips one hand around your front to tease you as he reclaims your body. With his other hand, as promised, Loki grips a fistful of your hair, pulling your head back until your spine is curved into an enticing arch.

 

“Beautiful,” he names you hoarsely, and even in the midst of copulation, your face flushes an even darker shade of red.

 

But now he's fierce once more, body slamming into yours, hair tight within his grasp, his other hand gripping your ass hard enough to leave bruises. You're panting, already close again, loud groans emanating from your exposed throat.

 

“Mm, such lovely sounds,” he rasps, running a hand up your side as he tugs on your hair again. “Talk to me.”

 

“So… good….” you manage to say, your breath coming in gasps. “So. _Fucking_. Good.”

 

“Who else would you have but me?” he questions in a moan.

 

“None,” you swear, biting your lip to suppress a groan as he thrusts into you harder. “Only you.”

 

He releases your hair and pushes you down, your elbows buckling. You press your face into the mattress, letting out a shriek as he pounds into you.

 

His hands, his body, he's everywhere, all over you, you can't keep track. Teeth on your skin, hands on your chest – yours or his? You don't know anymore.

 

You're building towards your climax, but Loki gets there first. He swears, thrusting erratically as he releases into you, his fingers bearing down into your skin.

 

He pushes on your shoulder, and you groan as you roll over to face him. You're breathing heavily, your body still wound tight. You're aware of his quick recovery; he's not mundane in this aspect, as some of your lovers have been. And he can sense your need.

 

“Mm, my beloved,” he says soothingly in your ear, stroking the side of your face gently. “I won't leave you wanting.”

 

And he murmurs to you, running his fingers through your hair as he carefully slips in between your legs once more. He builds you again, slowly at first, his hands rubbing assuringly across your body, his lips pressing against aching marks along your neck.

 

He pumps his hips a little faster, and then a little faster, until the both of you are panting rapidly once more. He kisses your neck, your collarbone, easing his way down to your chest where he's even more gentle.

 

It's not often he treats you as if you'll break, but in this moment, you find it endearing.

 

And when you do break, when you grip his shoulders and back, gasping as your muscles tighten, his body reacts along with yours.

 

Heavy breathing fills the air as he pulls out and settles his head on your chest. Your heart pounds in his ear, which he suddenly realizes is a very familiar sound.

 

You turn your face to the ceiling, eyes closed. You love him. You do. You can't help it, you really can't. You wonder why you never wanted something like this before. Were you just too afraid?

 

He rolls on his side, pulling your back to his chest almost habitually. When you look around, you realize the illusion of Loki’s room is long vanished. You fumble with your blanket, doing your best to cover the both of you. It makes him chuckle.

 

“What measly accommodations they've given you,” he says quietly. “I'll at least provide you with a proper blanket, depending on how long you see fit to remain here.”

 

You lean away from him and reach out for your shirt, sleepily pulling the item of clothing over your head before settling back down against Loki.

 

“You don't need to bring me anything,” you mutter, your eyes already drifting closed. “Just yourself.” You're truly exhausted now, and it's hard to form words. And now that he's _here_ -here, your paranoia is all but vanished. Still, you ask, “You have to go, don't you?”

 

The answer is more than reluctant. “I do, yes.”

 

“Stay until I fall asleep?” you request. “Won't take long. Please?”

 

“Alright,” he agrees, slipping an arm over your waist and taking your hand.

 

And he finds you're very correct in your statement. You're almost immediately asleep.

 

But that's too soon for him. He lingers, holding you to him, listening to your slow breathing. He's missed you, more than he's let himself admit. He's ready to have you back.

 

The thought reminds him; he flexes his magic, seeking out the hold on your power.

 

It is small, but bright in his mind’s eye. His attempts to trace it back to the source are unsuccessful, although he knows he'll be able to tomorrow, given help from his sorcerers.

 

Tomorrow will be a most _interesting_ day.

 

And Loki likes _interesting_.

 

 

 

It's thankfully still night when he wakes from his light doze. He hadn't meant to fall asleep, but the events of the night had left him fairly tired. It's also easiest to sleep with you beside him, legs tangled together, your back pressed tightly to him. His bed has felt very empty as of late.

 

Your mattress is hilariously inadequate, and he sneers as he disengages himself from you and sits up. The room is drab, the floor dirty, the walls bleak. It's absolutely appalling.

 

He sighs quietly, and puts a hand to his face. He doesn't want to leave. He knows he has to… but he doesn't want to.

 

He glances over at you, at the slope of your shoulder, the curves of your face. There's no trace of the hardened killer here, not right now. You're relaxed around him now, able to sleep peacefully at his side.

 

 _Just another sentimental fool,_ he scolds himself. _Curb your thoughts, and be gone._

And so he dresses, although upon closer inspection, he finds you to be wearing his undershirt rather than your borrowed mortal garb. He can't bring himself to wake you, and instead puts on the rest of his attire, trusting his armor to successfully cover most of his torso.

 

He pauses a moment before he leaves, glancing over at your sleeping form. It seems cruel for you to wake alone. But there's nothing to be done.

 

Loki dispels the magic surrounding the room before cloaking himself in invisibility and slipping out of the door.

 

\---

 

The Watcher pulls his sword from the activation panel, watching as the king steps out of the Bifrost’s light. “I would not count that as a ‘quick venture’.”

 

Loki grins, still in an overwhelmingly pleasant mood as he steps towards the rainbow bridge. “It turned into a much longer venture, Gatekeeper. I do hope you kept your golden eyes fixed elsewhere, unless you find it necessary to be witness to indecent acts.”

 

“I've no interest in nightly escapades such as yours,” Heimdall states in a voice Loki guesses to be torn between offense and humor.

 

But who’s to say? The Watcher is ever a mystery, and Loki feels no need to respond.

 

He’s got to prepare for tomorrow. He's ready to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More plot is forthcoming :]


	22. Two Steps Forward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do realize the updates are coming slowly, but I've got family visiting, so you'll have to forgive me. I'm just pumped that all of you guys are still excited for updates, so thanks for that. :)
> 
> NOW.
> 
> Let's take a look-see at the aftermath and get to the PLOT. *thumbs up*

It's almost morning when it starts to rain. A fat, cold drop lands on Clint’s forehead, spattering down across his nose and cheek. A soft pattering fills the area as more water meets desert sand. Barton scowls and shoots a glance at Haney. “Not good.”

 

“Should we tell Coulson?” the young man asks, looking at the dark clouds above.

 

“Why?” Clint asks, continuing forward. “So he can tell us a little rain shouldn't keep agents from doing their jobs?”

 

“Right, of course,” Haney says, cheeks reddening slightly. “I just meant…. Well, it’ll be harder to track now.”

 

“Kid, did you forget who you were working with?” Clint asks, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “Quit worrying about a little drizzle.”

 

But it doesn't stay a drizzle. The roiling, black clouds obscure the rising sun, keeping the desert blanketed in darkness. The pair of agents haven’t gone ten steps before the sky bottoms out.

 

And the earth drinks.

 

Barton lets loose a rather unprofessional swear that makes Haney raise an eyebrow as the men duck their heads. Clint squints in the torrential downpour, doing his best to shield his eyes. “There's a ridge up ahead. Let's make for it. Tracks were leading that way, anyway.”

 

“Right!” Haney agrees hastily, hoisting his pack up and getting ready to make a break for it.

 

The men move quickly, trained eyes habitually scanning the surrounding area for danger. Barton notes the large gouges in the sand left by one of the beasts. The jagged prints are quickly becoming nothing more than mud. Soon, the pair will lose all obvious signs of their quarry.

 

“Damn it,” Clint swears through his teeth.

 

It seems nature has it out for them today. It won't be _impossible_ to find the beast, but it'll be harder. And there's still no traces of the man accompanying the creatures…. Something about that just doesn't sit right with Clint.

 

By the time they reach what little shelter the ridge has to offer, Barton and Haney are soaked to the bone.

 

Ever the optimist, the younger agent speaks up into the silence. “Well, at least it's happening now, and we didn't have to sleep in this downpour, huh?”

 

“Haney?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Shut up.”

 

The roar of the rain fills the quiet as Clint runs a hand through his wet hair. Hopefully, the storm will pass quickly, and the beast won't get too far ahead. He has no idea how the creatures react to rainfall. Would such a thing seek shelter, too?

 

“Is it true, what they say?” Haney asks after a long moment. He's been pondering on the monsters as well. “That those things are dead? I heard their flesh is all….” He trails off, watching Barton carefully. “Rotten.”

 

“I don't put much stock in rumors,” the archer responds. “Maybe they're walking corpses, maybe they're not. Either way, we do what we came here to do. Spent too long on the trail to come back empty handed.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Haney says quietly.

 

Clint looks over at the young man, who seems quite put out. The archer sighs and returns his gaze to the rain. “Sorry, kid. I'm not trying to be rude. Just, keep your head in the field, alright?”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“We’ll wait this out, and then get back to it,” Barton states, settling back against the ridge.

 

Haney copies him, setting his pack down and watching the rain.

 

“And yeah, you're right,” Clint says casually. “At least we didn't have to sleep in this downpour.”

 

Haney grins as water continues cascading from the clouds. "Yes, sir."

 

\---

 

You wake to the booming sound of thunder, which sends you quickly to your feet. The following crash and shout from the lab has you jerking on your shorts and sprinting across the room. Heart in your throat, you throw open the door and tear down the hallway. You come skidding to a stop in the main room, sword in hand and eyes rapidly searching for the threat.

 

“Holy shit, you're fast!”

 

Your gaze lands on Darcy, who sits at the kitchenette table with a mug and an empty plate in front of her. She's staring at you with her eyebrows raised, clearly impressed.

 

“What was…. Who shouted?” you ask, quickly checking to make sure the front windows are all intact.

 

“I dropped a plate. The thunder surprised me, of all things. I guess I may be a little jumpy.”

 

It's Jane’s voice. Now you take in the scientist and Thor, who are both standing in the kitchen. You can see the broken plate on the floor, and you slowly relax. “Oh. I thought it was the window.”

 

“What are you wearing?” The blunt question comes from Thor, who still holds a spatula in one hand and a pan of eggs in the other. His expression seems frozen on his face as he watches you. “Where did you get that?”

 

“What?” you ask, your brow furrowing in confusion as you look down at your shirt. “I…. Oh.”

 

You'd accidentally put on Loki’s undershirt. You aren't sure what to say as the events of last night come flooding back. You had… you'd said….

 

“I'll take these,” Jane says, carefully removing the pan and spatula from Thor’s grip. “Darcy, get me the broom and dustpan. And Thor, don't move, alright? You're barefoot.”

 

Thor only half-hears her. He's still scrutinizing you, standing there in his brother’s shirt, faded bruises on your neck. Darcy has returned with the broom and dustpan by the time he speaks again. “There's no use in denying the fact, warrior. He's never been shy about marking you. A juvenile behavior, yes, one that neither of us have quite shaken.”

 

“Hmm? What's going on?” Darcy questions, bending down and holding the dustpan for Jane.

 

Thor’s words send red to your cheeks, and you put a hand up to the side of your neck. Your body aches, and you're positive there's hidden bruises beneath your clothing. “Yeah. He was here.”

 

“Someone was _here_?” Darcy asks, her eyes now jumping between you and Thor.

 

The knowledge visibly pains the prince, who grimaces and forces a chuckle. “The mighty king is much too busy to even _converse_ with his banished brother, but will gladly come and _visit_ his….”

 

“His what, exactly?” you ask, a dangerous edge in your voice.

 

“His wife, right?” Jane asks, setting her broom to the side as Darcy dumps the glass fragments into the garbage. “And are we ignoring the fact that someone just waltzed in and out of here last night?” She turns to her intern and adds, “Go ahead and bag the trash, Darcy. And be careful. The glass could slice through that bag and right into you.”

 

“He's… ah… a sorcerer,” you tell Jane, knowing just how idiotic you sound as the words leave your lips. “Can go invisible, open doors with magic and stuff. Yeah.”

 

Thor turns to look at Jane, bemused. “Pardon, but did you say ‘his wife’? In regards to her?” He motions to you curiously.

 

“I, uh –” you begin, but the intern cuts you off.

 

“When you guys popped up, she _did_ say you were her brother-in-law,” Darcy agrees, nodding her head at Thor.

 

Thor looks over at you, blond eyebrows high on his forehead. “Warrior?”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I lied,” you say, shrugging and rolling your eyes as your cheeks go even more red. “Shocker.”

 

Thor is watching you worriedly now, as if something has just occurred to him. “I've had a thought.... I do not wish to be the bearer of bad news, but… I think you should be made aware. Warrior, if Loki remains king, custom does dictate that he marry.”

 

“Yeah,” you answer slowly, your gaze finding the floor. “Yep, I am aware of this fact. That's… actually what he came to talk to me about.”

 

“Oh,” Thor replies, genuinely surprised. The hurt on his face from earlier has completely vanished in light of this news. He ponders over the best way to console you, unsure of how to proceed. “I see. Well, that's that then, isn't it?”

 

“Yeah, I guess it is,” you say, shifting your gaze from the floor to the wall as you wonder if your face can literally burst into flames due to excess blushing.

 

“You don't seem…. I mean, you…. You’ve come to peace with it so quickly?” Thor asks.

 

You're _very_ aware of Jane and Darcy’s curious gazes as you mutter an answer under your breath. Thunder resounds at this moment, loudly booming from just overhead.

 

“Didn't catch that,” Darcy states. “Sounded like you said something about lying?”

 

“I said that my lie wasn't so far off after all,” you repeat a little louder, glaring at the wall in embarrassment. “About the whole in-law thing.”

 

“What do you…?” Jane asks, pursing her lips as her quick mind puts two and two together. “Huh. Well, congratulations, I suppose.”

 

Thor turns to her before looking back over at you. “In-law thing?”

 

“Your brother’s getting hitched, dude,” Darcy says, nudging Thor’s shoulder on her way back to the table. “To her.”

 

There's a sound from behind you, and you quickly glance up to see Erik unlocking the front door.

 

“You know, I'm going to go get dressed,” you say hurriedly, retreating towards the hallway.

 

“Am I to understand my brother asked for your hand?” Thor questions, expression once again blank.

 

“Morning, Erik!” Jane greets. “You're just in time for breakfast. Thor cooked.”

 

“Oh,” Selvig replies, taking off his raincoat.

 

“Well, I helped him cook,” Jane amends.

 

“Oh!” Erik says, much more enthusiastically.

 

You swallow hard, eyes darting all over the room. “Well, yeah, that, uh, did maybe happen last night,” you finally tell Thor.

 

“What's going on?” Erik asks at the same time the god of thunder marches up to you and wraps you in a gigantic hug.

 

“Holy fuck, I can't breathe,” you wheeze, feeling your feet leave the ground as Thor spins you. Your whole body is stiff; you're not fond of others touching you, especially without warning.

 

But it's Thor. And it's too late, anyway.

 

“By the fates!” his voice booms loudly in your ear. “By the stars, I say, my friend, I wasn't sure I'd ever see the day! My little brother! Taking a wife, of his choosing! By the Norns, there'll be opposition, but Hel!” Thor sets you down and fixes your red face with a broad grin. “He's always done what he wanted anyway, has he not?”

 

“Thor,” you say, wanting nothing more than to hide your face in your hands, “I love you, man. But you're seriously making me want to die right now.”

 

“What?!” he exclaims, taking you by the shoulders, smile still stretched across his face. “Betrothals are to be celebrated, warrior! Especially royal betrothals! Unorthodox, yes, but _you_ are his intended! Pardon _me_ for my joy in regards to a joyous occasion!”

 

“Seriously, you're killing me,” you moan, finally giving in and covering your face with your hands.

 

“What exactly is going on?” Selvig asks again curiously, and you remember the humans in the room.

 

You grip Thor's arm and start to tug him towards the hallway. “I can't do this right now,” you mutter, pulling him along.

 

“Why not?” Thor asks, absolutely befuddled by your reaction. “Are you not ecstatic, warrior?”

 

Finally alone in the hall, you turn to him again. You hope you're far enough away that the others cannot hear. “Lookie here, Thor. I… I can't talk about this right now. If I think too hard on it, I might…. I don't know….”

 

“What?” he asks incredulously. “You’d rescind your engagement?” When you don't answer right away, he presses on. “Why?”

 

“You want me to list the ways this could go wrong? Because I will,” you state grimly.

 

“Bah! Don't let your negativity seep into an event such as this!” Thor chides you, giving your back a solid thump. “Loki has stood by my reasonings many times, as flawed as they were, and I shall stand by the both of you!”

 

You stare up at him, at his broad, naïve grin. He seriously just trusts with his whole heart, even when he shouldn't. It's sad. “I swear, you've got to get your shit together, Thor,” you say, sighing and shaking your head. “Seriously.”

 

Thor carries on, oblivious. “You worry for nothing!”

 

“The people of Asgard are going to kill me,” you retort, rolling your eyes. “That's an appropriate worry right there.”

 

“The people love you,” Thor insists.

 

“No, the _soldiers_ love me. Actually, they just kind of like me. They love Will. _The_ people _,_ and people in general mind you, don't like me. And don't get me started on your dad.”

 

“He will wake, and what is done shall already be done,” Thor rebuffs, smile still on his face as he looks down at you. “Can you not just relish in this moment, warrior?”

 

“Yeah, any ‘relishing’ on my part will have to be done later,” you say, grimacing and looking away from Thor’s blue gaze.

 

“Are we not friends?” he asks.

 

“Yeah, I think we are,” you admit.

 

“And do you not love my brother?”

 

“Damn it, Thor. Yeah, okay? I do. There.”

 

“Then rejoice with me,” the god of thunder says, as if it is simple. “Think on your worries later.”

 

And the stupid, grinning oaf finally gets you to crack a smile.

 

\---

 

Loki approaches Frigga, where she sits by Odin’s bedside. It's been a few days since he's last seen her. He does not care to be in the Allfather’s presence, but it is a price he is willing to pay in order to converse with his mother.

 

“Hello, my son,” she greets, turning and bowing her head.

 

“May I sit?” Loki asks cordially, and the nurse occupying the other bedside chair quickly scurries away.

 

“Of course,” Frigga answers, unable to keep the small smile from her face. “I'm assuming that you're here to tell me.”

 

“Tell you what?” Loki asks curiously as he takes his seat.

 

“Go on, go on,” Frigga insists. “Word travels fast, but I am more than ready to hear from the source.”

 

Loki’s dark eyebrows rise. “There's already talk? That's… odd. But… yes, Mother, I am here to tell you that I am to take a wife.”

 

And Frigga cannot help herself. She smiles widely, taking Loki’s hands in hers. “Oh, my son, that is splendid news!”

 

“You approve of such a union?” Loki asks, once more surprised. “I thought you'd have a few objections.”

 

“Well,” the Allmother begins, “her tactlessness is not unknown, to be sure. However, I'm positive our people will grow to love and accept her. I was not surprised by your choice, considering….” She hesitates, pondering over her words. “Loki, I would ask… what will you do about the girl?”

 

“What do you mean?” he questions, thoroughly confused by her statement. “What girl?”

 

“The warrior. Have you told her of what must transpire?” Frigga asks worriedly. “While I am joyous for you, yes, I cannot lie. My heart does ache for the poor woman. Will she be rid of us? Remain on Midgard, perhaps? I'm aware that she swore fealty to Odin, but as he does not currently sit the throne, I'm sure you could acquit her of this duty.”

 

“Mother, what is this that you speak of?” Loki asks, brow furrowed. “I've asked for the warrior’s hand, and she has accepted.”

 

Frigga stares into her son's green eyes, searching for some sort of ruse. “You jest.”

 

“I do not!” Loki replies, almost offended.

 

“You do not,” Frigga repeats in realization. “Oh, Loki, are… are you sure? The warrior?”

 

“I am aware of the consequences,” he answers, shrugging nonchalantly.

 

“What led you to this choice?” Frigga questions hesitantly.

 

“Would even you frown upon a union born from love, Mother?” he snaps in return. “Such a thing, it twists the mind and reasonings, and makes many a man foolish. Even a king.”

 

And the Allmother is stunned for a moment. “Love? You speak truly?”

 

“I do, yes,” he answers. “Would that I could be rid of it. Life would certainly be easier, would it not?”

 

Frigga has no words. It would be easier, yes, but just the fact that he's willing to face opposition, face the consequences of such a thing… for _you_ , tells the Allmother that what he says to her is true. But if he marries you….

 

“She’ll need assistance,” Frigga muses aloud. “We need her to return. I must meet with her.”

 

Loki cannot help but smile, the expression uncharacteristically full of gratitude. It falters when something peculiar occurs to him. “Who did you think I spoke of, Mother? What had you heard of my upcoming nuptials?”

 

“You should meet with your council, Loki,” Frigga suggests. “As of yesterday evening, they have begun plans for a visit from the eastern kingdom’s princess, Runa.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pssst!  
> Runa is the step back.  
> Geddit?  
> Cuz the chapter title is....  
> And then at the end it's all like....  
> ....  
> Yes, I'm lame, I know lmao


	23. Hangman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate Title: This Council Meeting Is Wild, My Dudes

Asmund is looking forward to training every day, to pushing himself to magical limits he's never dreamed of reaching. He now lodges with the other sorcerers in the upper portion of the guild building, and already plans on filling his nights with a conjured light source and the soft sound of pages turning as he reads.

 

He has to learn all he can.

 

He has to locate his father.

 

But even with his newfound position of guild member (albeit, still the lowest of sorcerers among them), a part of him yearns to return to his childhood home, where his mother and his beloved reside.

 

Sigrid has been asking for updates on his day, as well as any information he hears regarding your wellbeing. After pestering Master Toril, Asmund is able to tell Sigrid that you _are_ alive, currently trapped upon Midgard. He is grateful for the relief this brings the poor girl, and has to admit that he himself is also glad you’re still living.

 

Now, as he walks into the large training room, he overhears your name. There is apparently a new topic of gossip, and he listens carefully for any news. Asmund feels a small, almost nostalgic smile make its way onto his face. When it comes to whispers and rumors, the sorcerers are as bad as the palace servants used to be. Asmund had always been in the know, thanks to Mistress Hilde’s crew. The sorcerers and sorceresses, however, are more specific in what they glean from the palace rumor mill. They are particularly interested in the affairs of their master, King Loki.

 

And lately, oh, how much there is to talk about.

 

\---

 

Thor, much like his father, grows loud when he is wrathful. The new king does not usually fall into this category. Where his brother’s anger is fiery, Loki’s is often cold. Dangerously so.

 

Hammond knows as soon as the king walks in to the council room. He knows the following conversation will not be in any way _pleasant_ , despite the nonchalant tone of voice Loki chooses to greet them in.

 

“Good morning, my lord,” Colborn says jovially in reply.

 

“Sire,” Egil states, respectfully bowing with the other two councilmen.

 

Hammond says nothing. He catches Loki’s sharp, green gaze and nods, but not a word passes through his lips.

 

He knows better.

 

“Gentlemen, is there something you wish to make known to me?” Loki asks as the four take their seats.

 

“Ah, the troops,” Egil says, nodding and shuffling through a few of his documents.

 

“No, you old fool,” Loki spits, his nonchalant attitude giving way for a moment. “I want to know who did it.”

 

Silence falls in the room, two of the councilmen absolutely baffled and one smartly remaining quiet.

 

“My lord?” Colborn asks, letting out a nervous chuckle.

 

“Hammond,” Loki says, an edge in his voice.

 

“I believe the king wishes to discuss the arrangements made upon the adjournment of our last meeting,” Hammond informs the other two.

 

“Thank you, Hammond,” Loki states cooly.

 

Egil’s forehead creases, and Colborn seems absolutely flabbergasted. Hammond wishes to shake his head in exasperation, but remains still. The sorcerer had not been present when the council had sent word to the eastern kingdom. However, upon discovering what had occurred, Master Hammond had loyally sought out the king, only to find him absent from his chambers and nowhere to be found, not even by magic.

 

“Sir, you said you had decided,” Colborn defends quickly. “We assumed you to have agreed with us, and therefore sent word to the kingdom. I do so ever apologize if we were incorrect in doing so.”

 

“Cancel it,” Loki orders. “I do not wish to entertain this woman within our walls.”

 

“But sire,” Egil says, “strategically speaking, the eastern kingdom will be more than helpful if united with Asgard. And as you must take a wife one way or another…. We thought you'd agreed, sir!”

 

“I agreed to nothing, _sir_ ,” Loki shoots back. “I simply informed you lot that I had decided.”

 

“Then _who_ , my lord, if not Princess Runa?” Colborn asks, once more dumbfounded.

 

“My warrior, you fools. Who else?” he snaps. “Quit your arrogant assumptions, and _ask me_ before meddling in my personal affairs!”

 

There is a beat or two of silence before Egil laughs. “You speak to us of arrogance, and yet you intend to wed a foreign soldier? The Bloody Warrior?”

 

“Have you no concerns for Asgard?” Colborn questions incredulously. “For your people? We had worries of Thor’s selfish ambitions, yes, but we never imagined –”

 

“Quit your babbling!” Loki exclaims. “Have the both of you forgotten who it is you speak to? Who you've sworn to serve? I believe a council’s intent is to _advise_ , not govern. The power of a true decision belongs to me, and me alone.”

 

“I _advise_ you not to do this,” Colborn insists.

 

“Think of our kingdom,” Egil urges.

 

“Asgard shall be made great by my might, not my loins,” the king hisses. “Tell them not to come. I'll receive no envoy here.”

 

“M-My lord,” Colborn says, his voice uncharacteristically wavering, “with all due respect, we should not do that. The message has surely already been received. They'll take offense, which would be unfortunate considering our current state.”

 

“We are on the verge of war, Loki,” Egil adds. “Without eastern aid, we risk more Asgardian lives.”

 

“I return to my original question,” Loki says dryly. “I want to know who did it. Who sent the message to the eastern kingdom in the first place?”

 

The room goes quiet once more, Colborn suddenly looking quite pale. He clears his throat. “I sent the message, my lord.”

 

“Ah, I see,” Loki says, nodding and smiling. “Well, you're dismissed, then. Thank you for your service, and I _do_ hope you find an alternative profession that suits your talents.”

 

Now, Colborn sputters without any true words coming out, such is his shock. Loki watches, waiting for the man to make his exit.

 

“Sir, if I may,” Hammond speaks up carefully.

 

“Hammond?” Loki asks, his tone unconcerned.

 

“I’d ask for Colborn to stay on the council,” Hammond says slowly. “He's years of experience in conversing with foreign dignitaries and dealing with politics. I've no such talents, and while I cannot speak for Egil, I know his focus is mainly militaristic. A mistake was made, yes, but the man meant no true harm. I suspect they made the arrangements quickly in an attempt to comply to your wishes.”

 

He has thrown the other two a line, and they quickly grasp it.

 

“Yes, precisely,” Egil states, nodding his graying head.

 

“We only meant to make arrangements quickly, my lord! I meant no offense, I swear it,” Colborn agrees vehemently.

 

Loki purses his lips, regarding each man in his small council. Finally, he says, “Very well. Colborn, you may stay.”

 

“Thank you, sire,” Colborn says immediately, bowing over in his seat and almost bumping his head on the tabletop.

 

“And the easterners, sir?” Egil asks. “Shall we continue our arrangements?”

 

“Do what you will,” Loki says, shrugging and narrowing his eyes. “If it will keep the peace, then they may come. But I will not see the woman.”

 

“A-As you wish,” Egil answers, disapproval very apparent in his tone.

 

Loki rises from his chair, disgusted and exasperated. “I've nothing more to say. Hammond, I require your assistance.”

 

“Of course,” Master Hammond replies as the council gets to their feet.

 

Egil and Colborn both bow deeply as Loki passes, Hammond trailing behind him.

 

The pair walk in silence, passing easily through the busy palace crowd. Many call out or bow to the king, and yet Loki pays them no mind today. Hammond is unsure of where he's being led, but he does not question it. He begins to recognize the twists and turns that the king is taking, and realizes that they make for the royal library. Upon arrival, the two noticeably relax.

 

It's quiet among the books, which both men are thankful for. Loki crosses to a shelf and scans the titles, not looking at Hammond as he addresses him. “I was told you searched for me. Asked guards of my whereabouts.”

 

“I did, yes,” Hammond agrees. “I figured you'd want to be aware of the circumstances. It would seem Egil and Colborn have a habit of making decisions when I'm not present.”

 

“Not after today, I'd think,” Loki comments casually, pulling a book from its shelf. “Surely they'll have seen your worth by now.”

 

“I suppose,” Hammond says doubtfully.

 

“I've discovered that the hold on the warrior’s power is indeed of familiar magical origin,” Loki states, finally turning to look at the sorcerer. “I'll require your assistance in tracing it this evening.”

 

“Of course, sir,” Hammond says quickly, nodding and glancing at the book in Loki’s hands. “Is that to help us?”

 

“What, this?” the king asks, a dark eyebrow rising. “No, this is for my mother. I visited her this morning, to tell her of my betrothal, and noticed a novel on the side table. This is its sequel.”

 

“So, the warrior is truly your intended, yes?” Hammond cannot help but question.

 

“I asked. She accepted. So, I suppose you can draw your own conclusion from there.” Loki pulls another book from the shelf, swiftly skimming the first page.

 

And Hammond stands to the king’s side, silent for a moment. “Then congratulations are in order.”

 

But he's thinking. He remembers the times you've chosen to visit the guild, enthusiastically taking in the sight of magics you've never witnessed. You had spoken with him at length, on more than one occasion, discussing the deviations between your home world and Asgard. You are dangerous, in a different way than Hammond has ever seen. And you're entrancing.

 

You'd accepted Loki's offer. He wonders…. No, he shouldn't wonder, but he can't help it. Hammond holds great respect for Loki, knowing he is a talented and fierce man. But in regards to others…. Does the king even respect you? He isn't certain, even after seeing the two of you together many times. Hammond knows you are not a woman to be coddled, but he can't stop himself from silently musing on the topic.

 

He had thought… well, it seems a silly thing, now, but he had _thought_ that upon the king’s impending marriage to the princess… that perhaps you….

 

Loki closes the book and turns from the shelf, taking a few steps towards the exit. “Thank you, Hammond.” He pauses, in both speech and movement, for a long moment. Finally, he speaks. “And I do respect her, if you must know.”

 

The sentence sends Hammond's stomach straight into his shoes. Once more, he smartly remains silent. Loki resumes walking as he speaks. “I don’t seek out thoughts, Master Hammond, I do not read minds, but anything regarding _her_ always comes across so loud.”

 

“Sir, I –” Hammond tries to interject, but Loki waves a hand.

 

“She is unaware of your... infatuation. All I will say is that your worries are unfounded. Have you anything else to add?”

 

Loki pauses in the library entrance, waiting patiently. Hammond’s voice is assured as he states, “No, not at all, sir.”

 

“Excellent,” Loki replies, shrugging. “Then we’ll speak of this no further. It never happened.” He steps out of the room, seemingly unperturbed. “I'll meet you in the guild study. Wait for me there. I must run these up to my mother.”

 

“As you wish, sire,” the abashed Hammond says, bowing his head and watching as Loki disappears around the corner.

 

\---

 

You've been staring at your open journal for far too long. You have no idea how to begin, or what exactly you should say. You finally take a deep breath, and put your pen to the paper.

 

_Hey, Will. So... uh... something odd and kind of personal has come up?_

You wait nervously for a response, half-hoping your friend is too busy to answer. However, barely a minute passes before words appear on the page underneath yours.

 

***

_Oh? What's up? Are you alright?_

_***_

You sigh, and bite your lip before scribbling back.

_Uuuuhhm. Yeah, you could say that? Maybe?_

_***_

_You don't sound so sure of that. Do you want to try calling me?_

_***_

You think back to the phone number Willow had given you. You know yourself, and you know there's absolutely no way you'll be able to talk to her _out_ _loud_ on this topic.

_No, no, it's easier this way. Plus, I'd have to ask Jane, and I just really can't handle that right now._ You purse your lips, and then grin as you add, _I still think that guy you're staying with is into you. Gave you a phone and everything._

Willow writes back in a rush.

_***_

_It's a helpful gesture. Plus, everything here runs on technology anyway._

_But, okay, so what's come up?_

_***_

Ah, here it is. Another conversation you're not entirely sure you're ready for. She’ll know. She knows you, and she’ll know why you're hesitant. This won't be like talking with Thor. Willow is aware of your history, how hard it is for you to commit yourself to and trust in another person. Not to mention she'd been close to marriage herself before… before the war. You don't want this to hurt her.

_Hah. Yeah. Technology and stuff. Makes me miss home._

You force yourself to just get it out, pressing your pen harder on the paper than is necessary. _Um. Well. Loki has to get married? And I guess it's to me?_

_Not really conventional for our people, but whatever, I guess._

_***_

_... Did you just tell me you're engaged?_

_***_

Again, you cringe. Your instincts tell you to flee, but your mind and heart won't allow it.

_Gods, don't say it like that, ugh,_ you write hurriedly, your terrible penmanship worsening in your haste.

_***_

_So yes. To Loki. Your bastard prince – king, whatever – from Asgard._

_***_

_Just tell me this is stupid, please?_ you write out in desperation. You need to hear _someone_ say it. Someone besides you. _I mean, this is a bad idea, right?_

_***_

_Alright, it's stupid._

_Do you want to?_

_***_

Will always asks you questions when you get like this, questions that lead you to see for yourself what you truly believe. You knew she would, and yet it's still hard to answer truthfully.

 

But, you can't lie to Willow.

_I... yeah, I guess I do. But it's stupid, so I shouldn't. I mean, there's a LOT that can and **will** go wrong, you know?_

_***_

You tap your pen loudly on the page as you wait, your impatient energy needing an outlet. You normally spar or train when you feel this unsettled, but regarding the current circumstances, neither of those things are possible.

 

You're doodling a picture of a hangman’s noose in the corner of the page when she answers.

 

***

_So? Things always go wrong, doesn't matter where we are or who we're with. Do you want him more than that?_

_***_

Again with the questions. You sigh, rub your face, and roll the pen between your fingers.

 

“Fuck me,” you grumble out loud, irritated with yourself.

_Fuck me,_ you scribble. _Yeah, I do. What the hell is wrong with me?_

_Look, how about I just kick Trenchcoat's ass, kill his pets, and then you come to New Mexico and we'll book it to Asgard with Thor, yeah? I'm sure your nice-guy host can help you with a map, or a plane ticket, or a car, or something, right?_

_***_

It takes her longer to answer this time. You start working on your hangman drawing again, adding a person and giving it a trench coat and a hat.

 

And when Willow’s answer comes, it's not what you expected it to be _at all_.

 

***

_If I didn't have to take care of one of those said pets over here, I'd jump over to New Mexico right now and shoot you both up to Asgard._

_But... I… Well…._

_I don't want to stay in Asgard._

_***_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But but but why wouldn't Willow want to leave Midgard?!  
> Don't forget about Star's sister fic, "[To Walk Together](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10797177/chapters/23950953)"! ;]
> 
> Side note: This chapter was super fun to write!


	24. Enough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it just me... or are we slowly but surely nearing the last bit of this story??

Clint Barton has decided that he hates the rain. The weather hasn't let up all day, turning the New Mexico desert into an endless expanse of mud. Even Haney has seemingly lost his optimism, trekking along behind Clint in sullen silence.

 

Thunder rumbles loudly from overhead, making both men glance towards the dark sky. Their clothes are soaked through, and thick mud pulls at their boots with every step. It makes it hard to walk, and even harder to find the will to press onward.

 

But Barton thinks they're close to their prey. They've stuck near the ridge, picking up the beast’s tracks from where it had sheltered. They should be right on its tail. He can see where the creature had struggled through the mud, leaving deep holes that quickly filled with water. If they can bag their target, this whole day will be worth it.

 

He spots something odd up ahead and holds his hand up as he stops walking. Haney bumps into him, causing the older agent to shoot him a quick, angry glare. Haney grimaces and mouths the word ‘sorry’.

 

Barton draws his bow, snapping it open and reaching for an arrow. Haney pulls his pistol, keeping a finger on the safety for now. He watches as Clint begins moving again, squinting as he peers through the rain.

 

The large indention in the mud has been slowly filling with water. It's much bigger than the tracks they'd been following, and Clint’s brows come together as he thinks. The deep gouges look almost as if… it jumped.

 

Barton’s gaze moves up the side of the ridge. Yes, he can see the claw marks left from the creature as it scaled up the side, deep furrows in the rock and dirt. But why would it leave the shelter of the ridge?

 

A thought, a very troubling thought, strikes him suddenly, and Clint’s eyes shoot up to the top of the cliff.

 

And it's a lucky thing he looks.

 

The beast is a dark silhouette, poised at the top, hungrily leaning down towards the men. Rain cascades across its broad shoulders as it freezes mid-crouch. Its yellow eyes seemingly glow in the dim light, watching, its muzzle quickly pulling into a fierce snarl.

 

Clint already has an arrow knocked, and he therefore acts swiftly. He draws and releases, aiming on instinct as he stares into the creature’s bright eyes. The beast ducks impossibly fast, shielding its face with its clawed front legs. Barton reaches for another arrow, and Haney fires off a shot as the monster leaps off the ridge and lands in front of them.

 

Its back legs sink deeply into the mud, which makes the beast struggle to pull free. It gives Haney time to aim for an eye and fire.

 

A hole opens in the creature’s jaw, and it turns to the young man and _hisses_.

 

Clint sends an arrow speeding towards the beast’s face, but once more, it doesn't meet its mark. The pointed tip sinks deeply into the side of the monster’s head, although this seems to have no effect on it whatsoever.

 

The beast frees itself from the mud, which immediately makes it more dangerous to the duo. Arrows are flying, gunshots ring loudly its ears. It bares its teeth, opens its broken jaw, and lets out an enraged roar. The smell of death and decay wafts over Barton and Haney, making the latter almost retch.

 

Before either man can get another shot off, the creature turns and sprints away on all fours. Clint’s eyes go wide in surprise, while Haney whoops triumphantly. “We got it on the run!”

 

“Keep your voice down!” Clint whispers. “This thing isn't alone, remember?” His eyes flit around the area, his heart still beating quickly in his chest.

 

“What do we do?” Haney asks, now also peering around nervously.

 

Barton thinks for a moment, and then reaches up to his com. “Phil?”

 

He waits, listening to the rain for a moment before the radio comes to life again.

 

“Barton.”

 

“We made contact with the target. Tried to get the jump on us. It fled, but something doesn't feel right. What should we do?”

 

He waits again, although Coulson answers quickly this time. “Is it wounded?”

 

“I don't know. Is it even possible to really hurt these things? We hit it, if that's what you're asking,” Clint replies.

 

“If you think it's too dangerous, you can return or wait for backup. Otherwise….”

 

“We’ll see where it went,” Clint decides. “But if we can't get it alive, don't be upset. These things really give me the creeps. It attacks again, I'm killing it.”

 

“Sure, Barton. Sure.”

 

\---

 

_Still can't trace it?_

_It's difficult. It'll take time,_ Loki responds _. The magic is very strong._

_Well, damn,_ you think as you tug your mattress down the hall behind you.

 

 _You **are** aware that the Bifrost is open to you, _ Loki comments snidely.

 

 _Great, I'll just grab Thor and go!_ You make the sentence as jovial as you can, rolling your eyes and dumping your bedding at the edge of the lab room. Darcy briefly looks up from her phone. She sits at the kitchenette table, headphones blaring music that even at a distance you have no trouble hearing.

 

 _Not him,_ Loki states. _I doubt he’ll even want to return, lest he has his mighty hammer._

The words stay longer in your mind than you'd like them to, lingering unwanted, curling around your heart and squeezing. ‘Want to return….’

 

You tell yourself again it isn't a big deal. Willow found a guy, why _wouldn't_ she want to stay here with him? But you have to admit… it had been nice to have your best friend back for a few months.

 

_What troubles you?_

Loki’s question shakes you from your thoughts. He's concerned, genuinely so. You sigh aloud, and shake your head. _Eh. It's nothing._

 

 _Well, I certainly doubt that,_ he answers pompously.

 

You roll your eyes, although he cannot see the action. _You should call it a night and get some sleep. I know you have a lot to do tomorrow, and that shouldn’t include worrying over me. I'm_ _fine_. _Really._

And now he's worrying over you even more, which was most certainly not your intention. You can feel it as clearly as if the emotions are your own. He won't say it. But that doesn't change the fact that it's there.

 

 _Loki…._ His name is soft in your mind.

 

 _You lie_ , he thinks to you.

 

 _Yeah, well, maybe after I take care of things down here, I'll Bifrost-it back to Asgard,_ you divert, choosing to ignore his gentle accusation.

 

 _Now, I wouldn't be opposed to that,_ he agrees. _Either way, I will see you. Speaking of, we must resume our work. I dislike the feel of the magic that surrounds you._

_We?_ you ask, eyebrow rising.

_Hammond and I, yes._

_Ah, good ol’ Hams. Well, tell him I said ‘thanks’._ You stare at your bedding, discouraged at the feeling of helplessness that washes over you.

 

 _Of course, darling,_ Loki says smoothly. _We’ll speak later._

_Yeah, ‘bye’ to you, too,_ you reply, a little smile playing on your lips.

 

Still, the silence in your mind is suddenly quite loud. It leaves room for your more intrusive thoughts to barge in and make themselves at home.

 

You sit down heavily at the kitchenette table, extremely disheartened. Darcy looks up in surprise, tugging a single earbud from her ear. “Uh, hey.”

 

“Where are Thor and Jane?” you question, eyes roving around the empty lab.

 

“Up on the roof, I guess,” Darcy states, shrugging and removing her other earbud. “Probably making out. They always say they're going to ‘look at the stars’, but I'm not an idiot.”

 

You shake your head and roll your eyes. “If they get themselves killed up there, that's on them. I hope it starts raining again. Maybe that’ll bring them back inside.”

 

“You going back to camping out here?” Darcy asks, idly scrolling through messages on her phone.

 

“Yep,” you reply, unnecessarily popping the ‘p’ in the word. “Guess so.”

 

The intern surveys you, her eyebrows furrowing. “You okay?”

 

“What?” you ask, slightly surprised. “Yeah, no, I'm fine.”

 

“‘Yeah, no’ means ‘no’,” she answers, shrugging. “Come on. I just told you I'm not an idiot, and you pull a ‘yeah, no’ on me.”

 

You can't help it. You let out a short laugh, one that holds actual humor in it. “Busted. But I mean, who’s really ‘okay’ when you get down to it? Everyone has shit going on.”

 

“Fair,” Darcy replies, pursing her lips and nodding. “So, are you, like, someone who talks about their problems, or are you super tight-lipped about stuff?”

 

“Take a guess,” you answer, giving her a look.

 

“Figured,” she says, shrugging. Her eyes go to your wrist. “Cool bracelet.”

 

“Oh.” You glance down at the bracelet Siggy gave you, at its ornate silver knots. It seems like forever ago. You're used to the feel of it on your wrist by now, and you usually forget it's there. “Thanks. A friend gave it to me.”

 

“Sweet,” Darcy comments, nodding her head. “I like it. Way more intricate than stuff you could buy around here. So, where you and Thor are from, there's no like… modern technology or anything?”

 

“I mean, there's technological stuff,” you say, shrugging. “His world is just kind of different.”

 

“Huh. And you're not originally from there, right?” she asks.

 

“Nope,” you tell her. “Lots of weird technology where I came from. We had something kind of like your phone, for communicating. They weren't called ‘phones’ though.”

 

“What about music?” Darcy questions. “Anything like an iPod?”

 

You give her a blank look until she pulls the little device from her pocket, the tangled white wires leading to her earbuds. You scrutinize the screen for a moment and then nod. “Something like that, yeah. It enabled us to get music from all over the planet. My friend gave me one for a birthday, but it broke.”

 

“Cool, cool. Same friend that gave you the bracelet?”

 

His face flashes in your mind’s eye – your kind-faced friend. The one you danced with. You haven't thought about him in a long time. You grimace as you remember the last time you saw him.

 

When you quietly collected your clothes, looked over at him (still lying in bed), and left while he slept.

 

Guilt hits you again. You'd _told_ him you had to go.

 

_But he was sure I'd stay. I could see it on his face… smiling in his sleep…._

“No, no, different friend,” you finally remember to answer.

 

“Oh, alright. Well, interested in hearing what some of our Earth-music is like?” Darcy asks, offering you an earbud. “I swear I have good taste. Jane doesn't think so, but it’s Jane, you know?”

 

You've always loved music, although leisurely listening to something for pleasure has been the farthest thing from your mind for several years now. It's been a while since you've heard anything you remotely like, something that would justify you taking the time to simply sit and listen. You think for a moment, glance at the front windows, and then shrug. “You know what? Sure.”

 

\---

 

... _he was sure I’d stay…._

_… see it on his face…._

_… smiling in his sleep…._

Loki hears it. He doesn't want to, but he hears it. He sees the slumbering man’s face in his mind, brought to him with a wave of guilt and sorrow he did not ask for, that strikes him deeply and makes his chest hurt.

 

Why do you think of _him_? What brought this about?

 

He falters in his work, the green glow of his magic fading. Hammond looks up, confused, face lit by blue light emanating from his hands. “Sire? Did you find the source?”

 

“No. It’s nothing,” Loki replies, his voice level.

 

He wasn't meant to see nor hear _anything_ in that moment. His bond with you has seemingly expanded the capabilities of his power, helped it grow and shift to bring him thoughts unbidden.

 

But Loki is a greedy man, a jealous man, and the image of a past lover’s face in your mind makes his stomach clench.

 

He tells himself it's nothing. He knows better than to ask, than to make his jealous nature apparent.

 

He reminds himself that _he’s_ marrying you. He'd asked, and you'd said ‘yes’. He'd felt your apprehension, your shock, your joy. You love him. You'd said so, allowed yourself to feel such a thing for a man such as him. He’ll wed you, and you'll truly be his; his _wife_ , no less.

 

 _Quell your jealous heart, fool, lest you ruin your own happiness,_ he scolds himself.

 

But still, another voice whispers in the back of his mind.

 

_… you're not enough._

_You never were._

 

\---

 

“ _He_ _still lives_!” King Halvar bellows, flinging Jerrik’s door open. It slams against the wall with a resounding _bang_ , the sharp sound snapping through the room and making the sorcerer jump to his feet. “Are you incompetent?! Are you working against me?! What say you, _Jerrik_?”

 

Jerrik flinches at the way the barbarian king says his name. He immediately falls on his face before the angry man. “Sire! Please, it is more complicated than that! The sorcerer Loki attempts to trace my magic; I'm barely warding him off!”

 

“I'll suffer no explanations,” Halvar growls, narrowing his eyes. “No _excuses_.”

 

“I'm not making excuses,” Jerrik states, wetting his lips nervously. “The warrior remains by Thor’s side, mortals try to capture the Hunter, and there’s the wicked king, Loki –”

 

“This sounds like a mess of your making,” Halvar says dangerously.

 

“No, no, my lord, I can fix this!” Jerrik insists.

 

“You have to,” the king orders. “I've other things I must attend to, and I've no man to spare for the job. Deal with this, Jerrik. Or have you forgotten the price you'll pay if you fail?”

 

“No, sire. I haven't,” Jerrik mumbles, forehead pressed to the ground.

 

Halvar thinks upon his plan; it always serves to curb his wrath. The western kingdom teases the Asgardians with skirmishes. He’s made bargains with several strong foes, those as eager to take down Asgard as he is. Jerrik will provide a way in to the palace, which was a condition one of Halvar’s newfound allies insisted upon.

 

“You say the trickster searches for you?” Halvar questions suddenly.

 

“He does, sir,” Jerrik agrees, thankful to hear that Halvar’s anger has subsided for now.

 

“If you think yourself on the verge of being found, break the hold. We’ll suffer the consequences of your failure if it comes to it.”

 

“Of course, my lord,” Jerrik states, rising from the floor slightly.

 

“You've done good work on the palace wards,” Halvar says after a moment of consideration. “Subtle, but useful. Laying the groundwork for our invasion. This does not atone for the fact that Thor lives, but it shows me you are indeed dedicated to the cause.”

 

“I want nothing more than to see Asgard fall,” Jerrik hisses, looking intently up at Halvar. “I've come too far to fail. It's as I've told you. I'll see those grand walls crumble.”

 

Halvar chuckles darkly. “Your vehemence is duly noted.” He watches Jerrik with a crafty smile, which seems even more unnerving so soon after his vivid anger. “Sorcerer, as I promised, I've obtained a mighty artifact for you. It's a pity that you've yet to earn it. Would you be interested in wielding such a thing when my people take Asgard?”

 

Jerrik watches curiously as Halvar holds out a hand. The barbarian king notes the greedy glint in the man’s eyes when the weapon takes form.

 

“Oh, I would be _most_ interested, my lord,” Jerrik says at once.

 

“I had thought so,” Halvar answers. “You seek vengeance, and I can sate that thirst. I'll have you face off against the wicked king himself.”

 

“Nothing would please me more, sir,” the sorcerer states, staring hungrily at the golden weapon in the king’s hands.

 

But Jerrik doesn't know, and it makes the barbarian grin. Halvar does intend for the sorcerer to wield such a thing, but not for long. The man will undoubtedly perish, leaving the weapon to be claimed by its intended user. After all, the Asgardian king _always_ carries home interesting artifacts from his victories.

 

And _this_ weapon is most interesting.

 

Halvar himself wants nothing to do with the twisted power he feels emanating from the blue stone embedded within it. It whispers, in the chilling voice he’d heard upon speaking with the cloaked figure. It whispers to him of easily conquering Asgard, of taking complete control, of seizing the universe. It is tempting, but he resists.

 

Halvar has made a deal, and will dutifully ensure the golden scepter reaches the treacherous fingers of King Loki.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wave goodbye to canon, folks.  
> We're jumping track a bit.


	25. Broken Things

Sif turns and slashes at her opponent. The blade of her sword skids across the man’s breastplate, making a horrendous noise as the two metals violently meet. She’s angry, and it’s serving her on the battlefield.

 

It makes her dangerous. It makes her reckless. It makes the Warriors Three exchange quick glances with one another during the fight.

 

The westerns are still no match for Asgard’s army. This is not a perilous battle, and yet the Warrior Sif fights as if these soldiers have personally wronged her. And when the skirmish is over, it’s like she’s still… dissatisfied.

 

“Good show, Sif,” Fandral comments, attempting to bring a bit of lighthearted humor to the group as the four assemble.

 

“I suppose,” she answers, shrugging. “That'll surely keep them back for a while, don't you think?”

 

Volstagg raises his eyebrows as he says, “I’d guess so. Why, Sif? What are you thinking?”

 

“I think to seek out the Gatekeeper once more,” Sif answers. “It's been too long. We’ve fought our battles, protected Asgard, as is our responsibility. Surely he can grant us but a few days to retrieve Thor.”

 

“Sif,” Hogun says, his tone surprisingly gentle. “We have a duty to fulfill here.”

 

All is quiet for a moment, the sounds of the Asgardian army pursuing their enemies sounding in the distance.

 

“And we still can,” Sif insists softly. “It shouldn't take long. It's just that… that I…. I cannot bear the thought of something happening to him whilst we do nothing. We’ve no way to hear from him, to know if he even lives. We’ve only the word of Loki to go by, and who’s to say how the Silvertongue would twist Thor’s circumstances?”

 

The Warriors Three look uncomfortably at one another. She isn't wrong. But… each man has their suspicions as to of where this drive truly originates from.

 

“Lady Sif,” Fandral tries, reaching a hand out to place on her shoulder.

 

“No!” Sif exclaims, jerking back and glaring at the three. “Fates above, are any of you _true_ friends to Thor?”

 

“Of course we are!” Volstagg rebuffs.

 

“How could you even imply such a thing?” Fandral asks, aghast.

 

“Don't mistake our inaction for apathy,” Hogun states. “We worry as much as you. But the Gatekeeper has already denied us passage. Have you any other suggestions on how to reach Midgard?”

 

“Ask again,” Sif says, fixing them with a fierce stare. “And again. And again, if that’s what it takes. Our palace readies for eastern envoys, the westerners have been beaten back. Our other enemies are at a standstill. Surely, if there is a time to go, it is now.”

 

Hogun and Fandral glance around, wary of any overhearing such treacherous talk.

 

“You would have us ask again?” Volstagg questions under his breath. “Risk the dungeons once more?”

 

“Yes. All four of us, or just me,” Sif replies, nodding once to accentuate her point. “It matters not.”

 

And they can tell from her tone that she means every word.

 

\---

 

“Haney? You with me?” Clint asks.

 

The young man startles awake, rubbing his eyes and then looking up at the archer apologetically. “I'm here.”

 

“We stopped to rest, not sleep,” Barton says.

 

“I know, sir. I'm sorry,” Haney replies sheepishly, getting to his feet.

 

“It's fine,” Clint says, shouldering his pack. “It's late. We’ll call it a night soon, I promise.”

 

The two trudge on, following the obvious tracks by the light of the moon. Night in the desert brings a chill, and makes Haney shiver involuntarily. He feels as if the darkness closes in around them, as if eyes watch from just out of sight. It makes the young agent nervous, but the man in front of him seems unconcerned.

 

They're tired, but they have to move. Clint feels as if they fall further and further behind the beast every second. Where is it going? Is it simply fleeing, or does it have a destination in mind?

 

The monsters don't show up on S.H.I.E.L.D.’s equipment or radar, which makes them almost impossible to keep visual on. Barton takes a moment to be thankful the beast they track has been avoiding towns. He definitely doesn't want to have to deal with that sort of fiasco.

 

“How important are these things?” Haney asks into the quiet. “We’ve been after it for days.”

 

“Who knows?” Barton answers gruffly. “Maybe S.H.I.E.L.D. needs something from them. They’ve got people out looking for the bastards, asking for agents to bring them in alive. I'm sure you can put two and two together.”

 

“Has anyone been successful yet?” Haney asks.

 

“I don't know,” the archer answers, brow furrowing as he thinks. “I didn't ask. Why?”

 

“I guess….” Haney mumbles. “I just…. I don't know, I just hope we can handle it. It's hard to kill something that's already dead.”

 

Clint lets that phrase sit in his mind. He finally shakes his head and says, “Either way, we’ll be fine. We’ll either be bringing back a monster or a corpse. Our lives come first, you hear me?”

 

“I hear you, sir,” Haney affirms. He's quiet for a moment, and then adds, “Thanks.”

 

\---

 

You aren't sure how long you've been on Earth now. You've stopped counting the days. Your waking hours are marked instead by events.

 

The tests Jane and Erik have you perform, all of which leave you increasingly bored. The updates from Willow, letting you know Trenchcoat’s beast had made its appearance, and that she was alright. Your talks with Loki, which become shorter and shorter as his responsibilities grow.

 

And your nights?

 

You're starting to get bad again.

 

You often wake in a cold sweat, alone and unsure of where you are or what's going on. You dream of past memories, of past friends and enemies, both living and dead, ghosts you can't quite shake.

 

Thor has started to worry about you. He asks after you repeatedly, offering to sleep in the lab in your place, but you always refuse. You know they're coming, you just don't know _when_.

 

The waiting is the worst part.

 

You're slipping.

 

And then one night, you dream.

 

This nightmare, you cannot run from. Exhaustion eats at your muscles, your bones, your mind. You're so tired. You could not run if you tried. And so you don't try.

 

It is everything at once, everything that surrounds you. You witness each twisted experience, every second of horror you've survived. And what you lay eyes on follows you as you walk.

 

You feel nothing. Even as you see the atrocities you've committed, the people you've failed, the ones that died along the way. The ones you left behind.

 

Even as you see the monsters you've slain, the creatures that still weave their way into your nightmares, all of the blood and death… you feel nothing.

 

And you walk, the dead trailing after.

 

And soon you find your surroundings have faded, leaving nothing but darkness on ahead. You can still hear what lies behind you – those who call out to you, accuse you, berate you. The snap of bones, the snarls of beasts, the soft words of a dying man.

 

Your feet cease to move, and you look down uncertainly. A void stretches before you in the ground, a darkness blacker than what you already stand on. It is as if you've found the edge… but of what, you do not know.

 

Your eyes catch movement from across the void.

 

There stands Loki, King of Wickedness. He hasn't seen you yet. You watch as he stops walking, as all that follows him presses ever closer. An army of mistakes and grief, of uncertainty and fear. You see the demons he withholds, the madness that lies deep. A blue face with red eyes. He walks a path of sorrow and blood, lined by monsters of his own making.

 

He seems at a loss. Dark circles under his eyes, gaunt cheeks, dull, cold gaze casting about in unsure apprehension. It is not an expression you see often upon his face.

 

He looks across the dark stretch of void and finds you staring at him. There are things that lay behind you, things he doesn't understand, but he sees what they do to you. Hollow and haunted, you watch him.

 

He is lost, and it breaks your heart.

 

“Are broken things like us… are we too far gone to fix?”

 

The words from you are clear, as if you stand directly beside him. He cannot look away from you, no matter how much it hurts to see you like this. He does not want to answer… but you’d asked.

 

And so he does.

 

“Yes.”

 

His reply is soft. It comes quietly, both a newfound realization and a long understood truth.

 

And you let out a sob, because you know it, too.

 

It is a sound he's heard on several occasions, the first from behind a closed door. It tears at him with clawed hands, sinking deep into his chest. Instinctively, he takes a step towards you, disregarding of the pitch-black expanse before him.

 

It holds, solid beneath his feet. You see this… and then you're running.

 

You can't stop crying, it's hard to see, but still you make for him. He continues forward, quicker now, intent on meeting you part of the way.

 

For a moment, you're afraid.

 

You fear you'll run through him, that he’ll be nothing more than an illusion, one that will vanish and leave you alone in the dark of this hellish nightmare. But you take the chance, and when you reach him, you find he’s as real as you are.

 

He holds you tightly as you cry into his chest, your fists clenching the fabric of his shirt. He quickly blinks away unshed tears, murmuring softly to you. “I'm right here, love.”

 

And you hold on to him.

 

Just two broken people, in the dark between their demons.

 

\---

 

You wake in the dead of night to find tears making tracks down your cheeks. You sit up and sob loudly into your knees, doing your best to pull yourself together.

 

Because people are not objects to be fixed, especially not by one another.

 

But you know they can walk together, find solace in one another. Not as two sides of the same coin, but two beings at the end of the same spectrum. A measure of darkness that others cannot understand.

 

Because there are some things, some people, that cannot be fixed. And they love with a brokenness that understands, and accepts every jagged piece of the other, without making hollow promises.

 

And that, in itself, is healing.

 

And you love each other for it.

 

\---

 

The princess stares into the mirror as her handmaids fret over her hair and clothes.

 

“She won't like it,” one of the girls says, frowning nervously as she twists a dark lock of Runa’s hair. “Are you sure you want to wear _this_ dress for your first meeting?”

 

“I don't think it's a problem to want to be myself,” Runa says, shrugging as she glances down at her simple attire. “If Mother doesn't like it, that's fine.”

 

“I’d hope so, because here she comes,” the servant near the door whispers.

 

The eastern queen enters her daughter’s room after a single knock. Runa turns and smiles widely, waiting for the scrutiny. “I believe I'm ready.”

 

The queen quirks her black eyebrow, red lips twisting down in disapproval. “Are you sure, Runa?” she asks with concern. “You meet a king today, darling. Of the _realm_ , no less. Surely you'd like to make an impression?”

 

“I doubt he’ll care,” she answers, shrugging. “It's no secret, Mother. If there's to be a marriage between us, it will be nothing more than political.”

 

The queen purses her lips and sighs. “That does not warrant such a lackluster appearance. At least take your jewels, dear one. They bring out your eyes.”

 

Runa snorts, much to her mother’s displeasure. “Eyes as dark as onyx, yes, I'm aware. I doubt such things would impress anyone in the golden city.”

 

“Do you speak of your eyes or your jewels?” the queen asks.

 

“Both,” Runa decides. “But, if it will please you, I'll bring my rubies.”

 

“It would please me,” her mother agrees, pursing her lips. She sighs and walks to the princess, the handmaids backing away respectfully. “Your father wishes to relay to you that if you greatly dislike the king, we can politely decline the invitation.”

 

“Then my father should've come to tell me that himself,” Runa says, frowning. “He worries for nothing. I'm not a child anymore.”

 

“We know, darling,” the queen states, giving the spirited woman a rueful smile. “You haven't let us forget. Just… behave. Remember your teachings. And _do_ wear appropriate attire, Runa. You are a princess, and should appear and act as such.”

 

“I'll handle myself just fine, Mother,” Runa says, a small smirk upon her lips. “And I'll do my best to behave. I swear.”


	26. One Step Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so ready for the next chapter tbh

He can't get the dream out of his head. Loki wants to ask if you were really there, if you saw him as he saw you… but he doesn't. He's much too busy, as he normally is, with meetings and audiences and palace affairs. But there's one thing he simply refuses to have any part in, and that's the setup for the arrival of the damned princess.

 

It still irks him to think about. He's aware of his council’s position on the matter – that it'll make more logical sense for him to refuse the engagement after actually meeting the princess – but that doesn't mean he approves of the envoy. The councilmen have asked several times for his assistance, and he's simply informed Egil and Colborn that he is _ever_ so confident that they'll be able to handle it.

 

And as far as Loki’s concerned, that is that.

 

He's exhausted. He cannot remember the last time he’s had a decent night’s sleep. And a king’s duties often require early mornings and late evenings. He could shirk these responsibilities in favor of rest, yes, but then what kind of king would that make him?

 

He thinks again about pleading with you to return home. Return to him. It wouldn't do to begin planning a wedding ceremony without the intended bride. Still, he's been pondering over it. Much more so than the less appealing event that is quickly approaching.

 

He's had to assure his council more than once that he'll make an appearance at the festivities this evening. It's his duty, after all, to officially welcome guests into his kingdom.

 

A bad feeling stalks him through the marble halls of Asgard, leaving him in a rather unpleasant mood.

 

He's to meet the girl today.

 

He's not looking forward to the pleasantries.

 

\---

 

The golden city of Asgard is even more beautiful than the stories describe. Runa’s dark eyes take in the cobbled streets, the noble architecture, the waving citizens. They're excited at the prospect of visitors, at the resulting festivities that will take place this evening in the palace.

 

And oh, the palace! She’s been waiting for the moment when the royal carriage will carry her close enough to see the grand, golden building. One more turn brings the palace into view, and it is absolutely... _stunning_. The grounds of the area are decorated by green gardens full of gorgeous floral growth, even in the cold season. Runa guesses magic to be the cause, which Asgard is known for.

 

Her people are not as well-versed in the art of sorcery. She herself has no gift in the craft. _Just one of the many differences,_ Runa thinks to herself, leaning excitedly out of the window to see more of what lays ahead.

 

In Asgard, there are no dark buildings, no plain embellishment. Everything seems bright, gold, ornate. It dazzles her, and she drinks in everything she can as the carriage finally comes to a stop.

 

“My lady,” one of her mother’s servants says, reaching out to open the door for her.

 

But Runa is too excited. The carriage door bumps into the man’s stomach as she eagerly steps down onto the path. The dignitary her father sent along tuts at her, and shakes his head. “Madam, please,” he hisses. “The councilmen approach.”

 

Runa does her best to focus, her eyebrows rising at the sight of three men making their way towards her. This is not at all what she figured the king’s council to be composed of.

 

A stout, older man with a white mustache and beard introduces himself as Egil, and the tall, lanky gentleman with dark hair states that his name is Colborn. It's the third that stands out to her. Blond, young, and sporting robes of navy blue, he says his name is Hammond.

 

“I am Kirby,” her father’s man states in reply. “And allow me to introduce Princess Runa Garthsdottir.”

 

Kirby bows and holds out his arm towards her, and the three men of the council bow in return.

 

“Pleasure to meet you,” Runa says, grinning as she curtsies. “The city is simply beautiful!”

 

“That it is,” the man, Colborn, agrees as he rises. “Come, we’ll have servants bring along your things to the guest suites. Your horses will be housed in our stables, and the carriage polished. I can assure you your stay with us will be most pleasant.”

 

Runa thanks him, hearing her mother’s chiding voice in her mind regarding ‘pleasantries’ and ‘princess behavior’. Still, she finds it very hard to remain professional as she walks through the lavish gardens of the palace grounds. The golden-tinted water of the fountains and pools leave her speechless. Is even the _water_ gold in Asgard?

 

The jade green hedges twist into miraculously detailed shapes, branches and leaves expertly sculpted. The air carries the sweet scent of the garden’s flowers, and Runa longs to reach out and pluck a bloom to put in her hair as she does at home. But she won't. Not tonight. Perhaps tomorrow, after she's met the king? Maybe then she can afford a bit of boldness.

 

She ponders, not for the first time, over Loki. The trickster is known throughout her kingdom, although only the best or most ruthless stories make their way to her ears. She knows enough to make her nervous to meet him, although she is not afraid.

 

His brother, Thor, is much more well-known where she comes from. Runa’s father had been anticipating her betrothal to the prince for years now. Quite a shock it was, for them to hear he had been banished.

 

Runa doesn't mind, although she'd _never_ say so out loud. Judging from the exuberant tales her mother has told her of the prince (most likely, she thinks, with the intent to woo her), she isn't so sure they'd get along. Her mother and father had both expressed concern over her match with Loki, although she sees him as a decent, if not mysterious, substitute for the older prince.

 

The king does not greet them when they enter the palace. Colborn informs the group that King Loki sends his apologies, but that he is being kept very busy by his duties today. Runa finds the notion curious, but is unbothered. Kirby, on the other hand, cannot stop a frown from briefly twisting his lips.

 

The princess is caught up again in the beauty around her, at the marble halls, the white arches and columns. Asgard is grand, much more so than anything in her kingdom. It is hard not to be anything short of awed.

 

The two older councilmen, Egil and Colborn, state that they will be leaving Runa and her company in Hammond’s capable hands, as they've other preparations to attend to. The blond man appears a little nervous at the statement, although he hides it as best he can. Runa notices her handmaid, Gyda, giggle quietly when Hammond gestures and his hand disappears into his long robe sleeve.

 

As they walk, crowd parting for the royal party, Runa speaks up. “Hammond, why do you dress in such a fashion?”

 

He’s a bit surprised by the question. “Ah, you see, I'm a sorcerer, Princess,” he explains. “I was not of the council originally, although Colborn and Egil have been very welcoming.”

 

The last, he notes in his mind, is a lie. But she has no reason to suspect that.

 

“Oh, a sorcerer! How exciting!” Runa exclaims with interest. “One of the king’s sorcerers, perhaps? I've heard stories, you see, and I'm most curious.”

 

“Yes, I’m a master in King Loki’s guild,” Hammond replies, although he sounds a little apprehensive at discussing the topic of his king.

 

“A noble profession, sir,” Kirby comments.

 

“I thank you,” Hammond answers, hoping to close the topic. “I'll show you each to your quarters. An Asgardian servant will be along to assist you in whatever you require. As royal guests, you will be entertained. Tonight, we host a dance in your honor.”

 

“Which the king will attend?” Kirby asks, the seemingly innocent question holding a slight edge.

 

“Indeed,” Hammond replies, pushing back his feelings of unease.

 

“You're in his guild, right, Hammond?” Runa pipes up. “What's he like?” Kirby shoots her a disapproving look that reminds her all too much of her mother. “What, Kirby? Is it a crime to simply ask a question? Naturally, I’d want to know more about him.”

 

“Of course, madam,” Kirby answers, his voice tight.

 

There is a small silence before Hammond realizes he's supposed to answer the question. “Oh!” he says, which makes Gyda chuckle again. “I have great respect for King Loki. He's a well-versed man, an excellent sorcerer, and a wise ruler.”

 

“Sounds alright, then,” Runa states, making Kirby shoot her yet another unfavorable look. She smiles back at him. “Can't wait to meet the King of Asgard.”

 

\---

 

Most of the sorcerers have left the guild to prepare for the palace event. The royal guests had arrived in the afternoon, and now is the time for citizens to return home, find clothing befitting such a dance, and ensure that they look their finest. It's been a while since the palace hosted a festivity of any sort, in light of Thor’s banishment and Odin’s slumber. The Allmother has rightly been putting her energy towards guarding and caring for her husband, not planning lavish engagements.

 

Sigrid has asked that Asmund go with her to the palace this evening – that it will be good for him to take a break from his trainings, if only for a single night. And he tells her ‘yes’, despite his better judgement. When the guild building is empty, it is much easier for him to focus, to learn, to meditate. But how can he deny her, especially when he misses her so?

 

Still, he lingers in the building, long after the majority of the others have trooped off to the palace. He will be late, but she will forgive him.

 

Asmund has been searching every night now, and the last time he reached out, he thought for a moment... that he felt... _something_.

 

He sits alone in the center of the sorcerers’ large training room, hands held up in front of him as he concentrates. It's easier when he's alone, when the lights are out and all is quiet. It's easier to reach with his mind when his other senses aren't being assaulted.

 

He searches for his father, for any hint of the man. He searches for a magic similar to his own.

 

It's hard to expand such a spell, which is not meant to be used over long distances. But Asmund feels as if his father is far from Asgard, and so he continues to push the boundaries of his power. Each night he’s stretched his mind further and further, to the point of exhaustion, until everything is blurry and he can barely form a coherent thought.

 

This time is no different. He has no idea how much distance he's covered, or how much further he’ll have to go. But he's determined. He's come too far, done too much, to fail now.

 

His sight begins to blur, so he closes his eyes. He's searching for the magic he sensed yesterday, before he almost lost consciousness. It was just a glimpse of a feeling, but the arcana was… familiar.

 

He continues to push, to search, until finally, _finally_ , he finds it again. He's sweating, his breathing shallow, struggling to keep his mind focused. His power is slowly fading, his magic practically spent.

 

 _No_ , he despairs, his forehead crinkling. _No, please. A little further. Focus. Just focus._

But it's like trying to keep water from slipping through his fingers. Asmund grits his teeth and pushes his spell to the limit, quite sure he’ll pass out.

 

His golden magic latches on to the familiar arcana, gripping tightly, frantically racing along the trail to the source. It takes him farther than he ever thought he’d be able to trace. Far enough to find….

 

And with a gasp, Asmund’s eyes fly open. He falls back as his spell is abruptly shut out, as the familiar magic he’d located immediately cuts off.

 

The boy blinks slowly at the ceiling of the training room, his eyelids heavy. He slips easily into the darkness, the extent to which he pushed his magic leaving his mind and body absolutely spent.

 

Yet still, two sentences echo loudly in his thoughts as he drifts off.

 

_I found him._

_I found my father._

 

\---

 

‘Shocked’ is not a good enough word for what Jerrik is feeling. He's absolutely, utterly floored, flabbergasted, struck dumb.

 

That was not Loki. It was not the wicked king that traced him this evening, but another. And _who?_ Who was powerful enough to find him, to seek him out this far from Asgard? How had they done it? His magic should've been indiscernible!

 

Jerrik frets. He'd cut off his hold on you, as Halvar had instructed. It feels odd after so long, to not have the far-reaching arcana capping your ability. How will this play out? Will he lose his life over this mistake?

 

He isn't sure. And he doesn't wish to find out.

 

\---

 

Clint lifts his pack from the sand, brushing it off as best he can. The rest hadn’t been long, but it had been needed. He stretches both his arms, groaning and popping his neck. He doesn't care for how long this mission is taking. He's ready to be back and done with chasing monsters.

 

Haney walks on ahead, running a hand through his hair to knock any sand loose. He’s long decided that he doesn't like field missions. At least, not ones like this. However, he figures he's done a decent enough job to get a good recommendation from Barton once they return. Maybe he’ll request a short mission. Maybe recon? He hasn't decided yet. Just nothing with sand.

 

Haney’s boots scuff the ground as he suddenly stops, peering ahead curiously. “Hey, Barton. There's a campsite up here!”

 

“A campsite?” Clint asks from behind, pausing in his stretching.

 

The archer immediately links the makeshift camp to the strange man he’d seen a while back. It sits to the side of a cliff, much like the other one he’d come across. He looks around warily, checking the top of the ridge in case a creature is waiting to ambush the pair again.

 

“Prints lead right to it,” Haney comments, walking farther ahead. “Maybe this means we’re getting close!”

 

He's getting excited, his heart beating a little quicker. This could all be over in a second, if they could just find the creature. Haney’s eyes scan the area, searching for where the tracks lead to. Instead, they circle the campsite over and over, leaving repeated prints in the sand.

 

Haney’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, and he turns to look back at Clint. “I don't get it. Did this thing just pace around here for no reason?”

 

Barton stops, an unsettling feeling blossoming in his stomach. “Hey, Haney, come back this way.”

 

“What?” the younger agent asks.

 

And then it happens. Faster than lightning, a dark shape shoots out from the behind the ridge. Clint shouts, reaches for his bow, but the figure is behind Haney before his fingers even brush against the weapon.

 

A hooked blade, straight through the boy’s back, out of his stomach. Clint’s got his bow drawn now, but it's too late. It's much too late.

 

Haney’s still looking at him, question lingering on his lips, brows pressed together. The pain slowly registers.

 

And Clint shoots, hits the murderer, but it doesn't matter. Nothing can undo a wound like that, not when the Hunter pulls the blade back, the hook catching more flesh and tearing, rupturing. His two beasts prowl from behind the cliff, noses twitching at the metallic taste in the air.

 

And Haney falls as the creatures leap forward, as the Hunter stares straight at Clint from behind his dark glasses. He lifts his odd blade, as if to tell the monsters to leave the boy’s body – for now.

 

Two pairs of yellow eyes lock onto Clint Barton, and all he can do is knock another arrow. Knock an arrow, and prepare to run for his life.

 

And dark, black blood spreads over the sand, pooling quickly.

 

And the earth drinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, Haney  
> Sorry


	27. Steel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)

You pause in the middle of your gesture, hand frozen in the air as your sentence trails off. Jane and Erik both look at you curiously, waiting for you to continue. Thor, lounging in the chair to the side of you, is the one to speak up first.

 

“Warrior? Have the mortals finally broken you?” He laughs at his own statement, and you turn to look at him.

 

“I’m alright. I feel…. I feel weird. Good-weird,” you try to explain.

 

“Is something happening in Asgard?” Thor questions, figuring the source of your odd feeling to be your emotional link with his brother.

 

“No,” you say slowly. “He’s in as bitter a mood as ever.”

 

“I’m sorry, will you explain what’s going on?” Selvig interjects. “Who’s bitter? You can… _sense_ something?”

 

“Hang on, hang on,” you say, ignoring the incredulousness in his statement as you stand up and stretch out your hand.

 

And just like that, as simple and easy as it’s always been, you slip into the shadows. You audibly gasp, and the darkness surrounding you quickly swallows the sound. “I…. What?” you ask, although you’re very aware no one is there to answer.

 

All is silent for a moment… and then you laugh. You jump up, soaring into the air, cheering and making an utter fool of yourself. But you don’t care. No one is around to see, and it’s the best thing that’s happened to you in a while, so why not celebrate? At least a little. You feel as if you’ve regained your freedom, although you know this is something you never _truly_ lost.

 

You suddenly feel the urge to get the _fuck_ out of Puente Antiguo. To ditch out on Thor, the humans, to forget about Trenchcoat and the freaky monsters, to go see Will, and then book it back to Asgard.

 

You hover in the darkness. It’s tempting, to say the least.

 

Instead, with a resigned smile, you return to Smith Motors, to the open lab room where three humans and the god of thunder wait for you. The exclamations upon your arrival truly amuse you, furthering your joyous mood.

 

“Oh, shit! You really _can_ teleport!” Darcy exclaims, rushing from the kitchen to the lab.

 

“It’s not teleporting,” you say, not for the first time, and roll your eyes as you grin.

 

Jane and Selvig have already moved on from surprised realization to scientific technobabble you have no hope (nor interest) in understanding. Thor’s gotten to his feet and approached you, clapping your shoulder with a large, heavy hand. “You’re free, warrior! How about that?” He laughs heartily, seeming genuinely pleased at the smile on your face. “What do you think happened?”

 

“I have no idea!” you state happily. “I’m not complaining, though!”

 

“Well, now,” Thor continues, giving you a lopsided grin, “either way, it seems you’ll finally be able to return home.”

 

You hesitate, the smile on your face wavering. It’s as if he heard what you’d been thinking earlier. “I… uh…. Look, Thor. I’m not just going to ditch you here.”

 

“My father still slumbers,” Thor says, “and I’ve yet to reclaim my power. I appreciate the sentiment, although I shan’t hold you to it. You’ve no ties here. I, however, cannot leave Mjolnir on Midgard. Therefore, I must remain here for the time being.”

 

“That just adds to my point,” you tell him, pursing your lips and crossing your arms. “You’re stuck here with no power and a murderous-sounding threat hanging over your head.”

 

“There’s been no sign of anything amiss,” Thor tells you, waving a hand dismissively. “Why not go visit, at the very least? If you truly wish to return, I’ll not begrudge you for it.”

 

“Yeah, I come back and you’re all dead,” you mutter, frowning and looking away.

 

“Hardly,” Thor retorts, puffing his chest out. “I may not have my power, but I am still the god of thunder. I’ll do whatever I can to ensure the safety of my friends.”

 

You glance over at the three humans; Jane and Erik are still locked in conversation, and you have no doubt they’ll bombard you with questions in a few minutes. Darcy, however, is listening to the two of you talk. She meets your gaze and raises her eyebrows. “Hey, you’ve got a fiancé you haven’t seen in a while, right? And a friend in another state? I mean, _I’d_ go. I’m sure the four of us can manage to stay alive for a couple hours on our own. But it’s whatever.”

 

You roll your eyes and shake your head. “Well, that’s not comforting,” you tell her. “Just saying.”

 

\---

 

Clint Barton’s feet slip in the sand, and he almost goes down. He twists around as he gets his balance back, firing an arrow at the first flash of yellow he sees. The beast falls back, but its companion leaps at the archer from the other side. He purposefully slides in the sand this time, skidding under the creature as he knocks another arrow.

 

He’s not moving fast enough, not thinking fast enough. Barton’s reflexes are incredible, and they’ve always served him well, but these things are _quick_. He does his best to keep a level head, just as he was trained. But he can’t get the image of Haney out of his mind.

 

He’d told the kid they’d both get out alive.

 

The creature lands and whirls towards him, and Clint releases the arrow. The beast blocks with one of its unnatural front legs, the shaft piercing through its clawed paw – or is it a hand? He can’t be sure of anything anymore.

 

The monsters both recover quickly, making for him once more, but Barton’s already running again. He jams his finger at the button on his com, shouting a little too loudly. “COULSON! COULSON! PHIL!”

 

He fires expertly over his shoulder, barely taking any time to aim and trusting wholly in his instincts. He knows each of his shots would’ve pierced the bastard’s eyes if they’d only quit _blocking_.

 

He should’ve killed the one when he had the chance. S.H.E.I.L.D. shouldn’t want these things alive.

 

He thinks quickly, keying in a code to his quiver. His heart feels as if it’ll burst from his chest as he continues sprinting along the base of the ridge. The com in his ear crackles to life, although this brings Clint no immediate relief.

 

“Barton?”

 

“PHIL! I need a pickup! I’ve got –” Clint pauses long enough to fire his grappling arrow at the top of the cliff. He uses his momentum to swing himself up, barely missing the jaws that snap closed behind him. “– two on me, and the man himself right around the corner!”

 

Barton scrambles up the cliff, his grapple helping him make major headway on his pursuers. The two beasts snarl at him, leaping up one after another and clawing at the walls of the ridge.

 

“Stay where you are, and we’ll get to your location,” Phil says, his voice level in Clint’s ear.

 

“Yeah, uh, we’ll see about that,” Barton pants, looking down as his fingers grasp the top of the cliff. He stares into the approaching faces of the two yellow-eyed creatures. They are quickly scaling the wall after him, claws scrambling, muzzles pulled back to reveal sharp, iridescent rows of teeth. “Just get a bird here quick, Coulson. I don’t have infinite ammo.”

 

Clint gets to his feet, knocks back an arrow, and aims down the side of the ridge. The bastards will have to choose – block his shots and tumble off the cliff, or have an arrow sprouting from an eye socket.

 

“Your choice,” Barton growls out loud, and fires.

 

\---

 

Runa is for once grateful that her mother insisted she pack her finest dress. Gyda had suggested she wear it to the dance this evening, and upon walking into the Asgardian ballroom, she is thankful that she conceded. Her most grandeur dress does not hold a candle to the intricate designs of Asgardian garb.

 

But she puts it from her mind, and wears a bright smile upon her face. She tells herself not to look for him – her potential future husband – but finds that her eyes travel at once to the head of the room.

 

And there he sits.

 

King Loki of Asgard, she admits to herself, is quite a sight. Hair as black as a raven’s wing, handsome features, strong jaw. And emerald eyes that glitter as he stares out over the guests of the party.

 

Boredom. Every inch of him screams ‘bored’ to her, from his expression to the way he props his head up with his hand. Why does he act so, at such an extravagant event? Is he…. Is she so bold to think… that maybe he’s waiting for her to arrive?

 

“Asgardians!” the herald cries from her side. “Our guest of honor, and the reason for this event, I present to you Princess Runa Garthsdottir!”

 

The guests clap enthusiastically, although most begin whispering to one another. Runa begins to feel a little self-conscious. Do they speak of her dress? Her jewels? She keeps the doubt off of her face, draws herself up, and looks expectantly at King Loki.

 

He has not spared her even a glance.

 

 _How very rude!_ she thinks to herself, a flame of anger igniting in her belly. She makes her way into the room, speaking politely to those who approach and always maintaining her smile (just as her mother had taught her).

 

She tells herself it shouldn’t bother her, but it does. By the Nine, she’s the king’s guest! He should at least spare a moment to welcome her! It makes her ponder over this stoic man as she talks and laughs with the Asgardians. He’s a known trickster – could this be a test? Maybe he doesn’t like to be the one to make the first move? Perhaps he favors bold women?

 

 _If that’s the case, then that’s quite alright,_ she muses. _I’m more than capable._

 

\---

 

Loki broods at the head of the room, staring at the ongoing festivities without truly taking anything in. He’d promised to come, and here he is. That’s all that had been asked of him. Yes, he’ll eventually welcome the visitors to his kingdom, but nothing more.

 

He does not have to see the woman to know his people have already taken to her. He hears her laugh – it carries, the sound echoed by those she speaks to. They like her. It further works to darken his mood.

 

The evening is dragging. There is no one here he cares to converse with, especially not in his current state. It almost makes him miss his brother. Thor’s friends have not even attended, although Loki is not surprised. He imagines they despise him now.

 

He sits, where Odin once sat, and waits for the event to be over. He acts as a king should when he is approached, nodding cordially as his subjects bow. He partakes in the food, a servant fetching him plate and drink. He goes through every motion of being a ruler, and yet tonight his heart is not in it.

 

The chair beside him is empty.

 

He can’t help but think about you sitting next to him. You’d undoubtedly enjoy yourself, snickering quietly with him as you both trade cheeky comments. Perhaps you’d even suffer a dance with him towards the end of the night.

 

He suddenly sees himself twirling across the dancefloor with you. The room is silent – all of the guests are gone, and you’re alone. There is no music, and yet the both of you dance as if you hear a lovely tune.

 

It’s a surprisingly pleasant thought, one that makes his lips turn up into a small smile. Voices and music bring him once more to the real world. He rises from his seat, which causes those who notice to immediately turn towards him.

 

Soon enough, all eyes are upon him, waiting expectantly. He raises his wine glass slightly and nods his head to acknowledge their attention. “Pardon me a moment, if you will. I’d like to take the time to welcome our eastern guests into Asgard’s halls. It is an honor to have such royal company among us, and I hope they find their stay quite enjoyable.” For the first time, he meets the dark eyes of the princess. “Thank you, and welcome.”

 

Clapping erupts from around the room, and the partygoers return to their activities. Loki, however, does not. The king sets his empty glass on a servant’s platter, and walks away.

 

He’s had enough of this farce. He’d rather be alone.

 

\---

 

Runa’s heart beats faster in her chest than she’d like, betraying her nerves. Still, her feet do not waver as she follows the Asgardian servant through the palace halls. The boy turns back to her once more, eyeing her uncertainly. “Are you sure, my lady? He usually doesn’t take visitors.”

 

“I won’t be long,” Runa insists. “I only wish to talk with him. It seems I missed him at the party.”

 

She steels herself, lifting her chin and putting on an air of utter confidence. She’ll play the king’s game, if that’s what he so desires. Why would he extend an invitation to her, and then not even speak with her? If all else, she can say she wished to officially make his acquaintance. It’s only proper to thank him for throwing a dance in her honor.

 

That will be bold enough for him, she’s sure.

 

The boy eventually stops outside of Loki’s chamber door, nervously eyeing Runa. “Well, here we are. Hold on a moment.”

 

He knocks, the quick rapping keeping time with the princess’s pulse. The reply from within sounds level, although there is something that lies underneath.

 

“The Princess Runa is here to speak with you, my king,” the boy calls. “She asks but for a moment of your time.”

 

Silence stretches for an extended amount of time. Long enough for Runa to become uncomfortable.

 

“Alright.”

 

His voice travels through the door, and she can’t help but smile at the small victory.

 

“I’ll wait for you here, princess,” the boy says, politely bowing as he moves to stand beside the door.

 

And so the princess swallows any doubts she has, and enters the chamber of the king.

 

He sighs as she walks in, placing a scroll on his table as he rises from the couch. “Greetings, Princess Runa. What brings you here, might I ask?”

 

“My lord, I simply wanted to make your acquaintance,” she states, bowing. “It seems I missed you at the festivities this evening.”

 

“Yes, I ducked out early. A king’s work is never done,” he answers, clasping his hands behind his back and raising an eyebrow.

 

“I’d imagine not,” she replies smartly, pursing her lips as she eyes the scattered parchment upon his table. “I apologize for interrupting. I simply figured it would be prudent for us to officially meet.”

 

“‘Prudent’, you say,” he echoes, a smirk playing on his lips. She’s bold, he’ll give her that. “Well, perhaps.”

 

She mistakes this as a positive signal. Runa steps forward, gazing about Loki’s chambers. “You’ve quite a collection of novels, sire. Why, just this room would keep a person reading for years.”

 

“And so it has,” he comments idly.

 

She looks over at him, her dark eyes meeting his gaze. And somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice whispers.

 

_A princess, with a kingdom that would pledge loyalty to you. Those she met are already approving of her. She clearly knows how to navigate among higher society. Born to rule, to stand at a king’s side. An asset that only a fool wouldn’t take advantage of._

“So, you like to read,” she says. “That’s good. I was hoping we’d be able to get to know one another. Hammond says you’re a most accomplished sorcerer.”

 

“You’ve spoken with Hammond, have you?” he questions. “Well, I am a sorcerer, yes.”

 

“That’s fascinating,” she answers honestly. “There’s not many that can use magic where I’m from.”

 

“Ah,” he says back, hoping to cut the conversation short.

 

The woman, however, seems undeterred. She tilts her head slightly, scrutinizing him. “You seemed very bored today, at the dance. Do such things not interest you?”

 

He’s a little taken aback by the question. “I suppose my mind was just on other matters.”

 

“I was rather surprised that… well….” She falters, looking troubled for the first time since she walked in.

 

“Well what?” he asks, curiosity piqued despite himself.

 

“I suppose you’re a bit different than I thought you’d be is all,” she tells him, shrugging.

 

“And what am I, then?” he questions, a slight warning in his tone.

 

“You come across as cold, but I think you’re lonely,” she says. “It seems so, anyway. You’ll have to pardon my bluntness, sire. My mother always says I shouldn’t speak whatever comes to my mind, but I simply can’t help it.”

 

He barks a laugh, a twisted smile appearing on his face. “My brother has such a tactless condition.”

 

Runa’s nose wrinkles. “Excuse me for saying so, but I was rather glad an invitation was extended from you rather than your brother. From the stories I’ve heard, I’ve never much cared for how he conducts himself.”

 

And Loki laughs again, only this time there is less bite in the sound. “A right boor, yes. You’ve never met him, and yet you know.”

 

She chuckles as she steps up in front of him. “Allow me a moment of pragmatism, if you will, in regards to our situation.”

 

“Oh?” he asks, watching her curiously.

 

“You seem to be a practical man, so nothing I say will come as a surprise to you. It’s clear that you’re uninterested in me romantically, and I don’t fault you that. Are we to wed, I am very aware that it will be for diplomatic purposes.” When he does not reply, Runa continues. “However, I find myself pleased to be in your company.”

 

“An odd sentiment,” he states.

 

“Perhaps,” she replies, shrugging. “But there’s something I wish to know. Something I _need_ to know, so that no matter what happens, I will be able to put the subject to rest.”

 

 _An easy out,_ Loki thinks. _She will ask if I could ever grow to love her, are we are to wed. And I will answer with the truth, and be done with this charade. It will not be so shocking to her, therefore, when she later learns I do not intend to marry her._

“And that is?” the king asks, a small smirk pulling at his mouth.

 

“If there’s anything here,” Runa says simply, leaning in and kissing him.

 

Shock keeps him still, his eyes wide, his body taut. His lips move with hers, and it feels _different_. Wrong. He puts his hands up to push her back when suddenly a part of him thinks… _what if._ The dark voice that whispers in his mind, that feeds him thoughts of becoming an unstoppable ruler, a king greater than Odin ever dreamed of being.

 

 _What if your warrior never returns?_ the voice hisses. _She’s already made it apparent that she refuses to leave your brother’s side. You’ve offered her the Bifrost, and still, she does not come to you. Perhaps she finds Thor’s company more appealing nowadays. How are you to know?_

But… he loves you. He knows he does.

 

 _Yes_ , _but love does not keep a kingdom standing. It does not serve diplomatically nor logically. It is nothing more than a weak emotion that acts as chains upon noble ambition._

 

He tries to push it all down, to quiet the poisonous thoughts in his mind. Everything feels… inappropriate. These lips on his, these hands on his arms, they aren’t your fire. This kiss, it has gone on longer than he should’ve allowed. He knows this. He has a choice to make, and he does so in this moment.

 

He must burn this bridge. For you.

 

He takes a step back, away from the woman, who looks up at him with her dark eyes. It seems she can already tell; there’s a certain resignation in her gaze as she watches him.

 

He opens his mouth to tell her, to say that she’s not doomed to wed him, a man that does not and cannot love her. But he is not the first one to speak.

 

“Wow. What a show. I mean, I’d clap, but I just… I just don’t feel like it, you know?”

 

The king and the princess turn to find you standing in the doorway of Loki’s trinket room, leaning upon the frame.

 

And he recognizes all too well the steel he sees in your eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And boom goes the dynamite.


	28. Choices

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are guys  
> Barreling towards the last bit of this story  
> <3

You toy with the idea of dropping in on Will. You want to check up on her, make sure she’s doing as alright as she says she is. And you'd definitely like to meet this guy she's staying with. Willow seems to think you might get along with him.

 

But ultimately, you decide to go see Loki first. He's been asking for you to come back, and if you're being honest with yourself, you miss him like crazy. It'll be good to see him smile.

 

You quietly step out of the shadows and into the king’s bedroom, which is where you guess you'll find him. You're already smirking, imagining the surprise on his face. You’re always pleased when you get the jump on him, and your power assists in that aspect.

 

But he isn't here.

 

The lavish room has hardly changed. Your trinkets line the back of his desk, which is scattered with documents. He's left your paints and drawings sitting on his table, although you can tell he’s shuffled through the artwork a time or two. It makes you grin, seeing how he’s neatly stacked the once-disheveled mess.

 

You'll have to tease him for being such a sap.

 

You catch sight of your bag sitting by your side of the bed and sigh in relief as you scoop it up. You start to feel close to normal as the familiar weight settles on your shoulders. You stow your travel pouch into the larger bag, and then head for the door. Loki’s probably in his main room.

 

You twist the knob and push, and you're about to call out the king’s name when you hear voices. And one of them is a woman.

 

Was Loki meeting with someone? In his _room_? That seems odd to you, but not completely out of the ordinary. You haven't been here since he’s been named king. Maybe things are different now.

 

A better person would've called out and announced their presence.

 

You quietly step forward into Loki’s room of collectibles, casually eavesdropping, lazily inspecting the shelves.

 

“It’s clear that you’re uninterested in me romantically, and I don’t fault you that,” you hear the woman’s voice state, and suddenly you become a lot more interested in the ongoing conversation.

 

You step up to the open door as she continues. “Are we to wed, I am very aware that it will be for diplomatic purposes…. However, I find myself pleased to be in your company.”

 

Your brow furrows as you move into the doorframe and take in the scene before you. Loki and a woman stand near his couch, their attention too focused on one another to notice you appear in the doorway. ‘ _Are we to **wed’**? _ your mind echoes in astonishment. _Did she really say that? And… ‘pleased to be in your company’? What's going on?_

“An odd sentiment,” Loki says back to her, and your heart drops to your boots.

And now you're silent for a much different reason. Now you have to see where this is going.

“Perhaps,” she tells him, tucking a lock of black hair behind her ear. “But there’s something I wish to know. Something I  _need_  to know, so that no matter what happens, I will be able to put the subject to rest.”

 

You can feel your pulse speed up as you wait for Loki to ask. He's a curious man. He's going to ask, even if he shouldn't.

 

“And that is?” Loki questions, his voice smooth.

 

“If there’s anything here,” the girl says, and your mouth pops open as she leans towards the king and kisses him.

 

You wait for him to stop the kiss.

 

You wait for him.

 

You wait.

 

Your fists clench, and you slam a wall down on the emotional link between the two of you, as best as you can. You don't want him to know you're here. How long will it last? You feel sick, staring at them.

 

But you have to know.

 

Finally, he pulls away. The girl appears disappointed, which is funny for some reason. It's funny to you that she's disappointed, that she has to stop kissing the man you're supposedly marrying.

 

 _Shut it down,_ you tell yourself. _Shut it all down. Look at where caring has gotten you._

 

Your heart hurts.

 

It's time to put your mask back on.

 

“Wow. What a show,” you comment dryly into the silence. Their faces snap to yours, eyes widening. You smile. “I mean, I’d clap, but I just… I just don't feel like it, you know?”

 

Loki says your name, his surprise fading. The princess steps back, dark gaze taking you in as she looks quickly between you and the king. She stays silent, realizing that the two of you obviously know one another. Especially considering you came out of Loki’s _bedchamber_. She has no idea who you are, although it appears you’re foreign, judging from your clothing and your words.

 

Loki says your name again, walking forward. You can tell from his intonation that he isn't sure how he's going to play this yet.

 

“Don't,” you say coldly, and he stops in his tracks.

 

Loki feels ill. Your guarded expression, the distrust in your eyes… it’s as if he's been taken back to the first moment he met you. Back to when you despised him.

 

“If you'll allow me a moment to explain,” he begins softly.

 

“Yeah, okay, so, you're going to try to _explain_ why you ask me to marry you, beg me to come see you, and then when I _finally_ do, I walk in on you kissing another girl?” You shake your head and rub a hand over your face. “I mean, gods, Loki, I know we never _said_ we were exclusive or whatever, but I _assumed_ it was implied. Especially after the whole ‘professing my love-Hey, wanna’ marry me?’ thing. If that was even a real thing. Who the fuck knows anymore?”

 

“Of course it was real,” Loki snaps, his temper rising to meet your own. Your statement cuts him deeply. He works to calm down, to _think_. “How could you suggest such a thing? If you understood the circumstances –”

 

“Then what?” you ask, raising an eyebrow and letting out a short laugh. “I’d just suddenly be okay with this? Yeah, alright, go ahead and explain,” you add, sarcasm dripping from every word. “I'd like to see how this all makes sense to you.”

 

Runa is piecing the puzzle together fairly quickly, her cheeks flushing. She's been making rather bold advances on a man who is already betrothed? No wonder the Asgardians whisper! Why in the _hel_ had King Loki invited her to the kingdom at all?

 

She doesn't know who you are, or where you're from, but you've obviously been wronged.

 

“Madam,” Runa speaks up, “I’m the one that initiated the kiss, and I apologize. I was unaware of the circumstances.”

 

You look over at the woman, who sounds quite sincere. She's gorgeous, she holds herself in a proper way, and you'd bet everything you own that she's highborn (at the very least). You grimace and rub your face again. You say, “Don't. Just… don't.” at the same time Loki states, “Runa, perhaps you should go.”

 

“Perhaps I should,” she fires back at him, and then turns on her heel.

 

When the door thuds closed behind her, Loki locks eyes with you. You watch him for a second, and then shake your head yet again when he opens his mouth to speak. “I can't – be here right now, okay?” you say, inhaling sharply. “I can't.”

 

“I made a choice!” Loki gets out, striding closer to you. “A second more and I'd have told her.”

 

“Oh, it seems like you've made _several_ choices while I've been gone,” you agree with faux humor, lifting your chin and giving him a quick, angry grin to hide your hurt.

 

“If you'll just _listen_ ,” he hisses in exasperation, “for just a _moment_ –”

 

“Yeah, okay, I'll let you talk,” you say, and a brief look of relief crosses his face before you continue. “But not now. I'm just… I'm going back. I've got to clear my head. I can't be around you right now.”

 

“Wait!” he orders.

 

If he can just get you to listen, he’s sure he can explain, that he can make this better. He reaches for your hand, but in a heartbeat… you've vanished.

 

The silence that falls over his chambers is heavy. His thoughts, however, are quite loud.

 

And very accusatory.

 

\---

 

You sit atop Smith Motors, legs dangling over the side of the roof. The moon has barely risen, the night still young. You can't go inside quite yet; they don't know you're back. And you don't want to explain anything.

 

So you stare out over the quiet town, watching the headlights of vehicles as they travel.

 

You feel mentally exhausted. You think back to earlier in the day, when you were ecstatic to find your power finally uncapped. And now…. Now you kick yourself, realizing what a fool you’ve been.

 

You've told yourself that you aren't going to break down, but you can't help it. Willow has always said that it's alright to cry; that it can help. And you don’t want her to be right, but after all these years, you know it’s true. You'll have to put off your visit to her for a while, until you can control yourself. For now, you let go of your mask, releasing captive sobs.

 

You're glad you left when you did. You hate crying, especially in front of others. Especially over something so _stupid_.

 

Things used to be a lot simpler.

 

You can still see the two of them in your mind’s eye, how it felt like an eternity before he pulled away.

 

Had he liked it?

 

Was… was she the only one?

 

You were too afraid of the answers to ask. Maybe tomorrow, after you've had some time. After you can stop this pointless crying.

 

There's a noise from behind you, and you quickly wipe at your face as you twist around. Thor and Jane have reached the top of the ladder, the both laughing at something one of them said. Jane catches sight of you first, her eyebrows rising. When she says your name, Thor’s eyes snap to you.

 

“Roof’s occupied tonight, guys,” you say, turning back around and ignoring them when they call out your name. “You'll have to find someplace else to make out. Or ‘look at the stars’. Whatever.”

 

They whisper for a moment, and then you hear someone descending the ladder once more. You let out a small sigh of relief before realizing there are heavy footsteps making their way towards you. “Go away, Thor,” you say shortly.

 

“I'll only stay a moment,” he says, stepping up beside you.

 

You groan and say nothing in return as the god of thunder sits beside you. His legs dangle next to yours, his heels lightly kicking the side of the building. He watches the town, takes in the night sky, and then looks over at your red face. “What ails you?”

 

“Nothing,” you answer.

 

“I know you left to see him, warrior, although I can't imagine Loki causing you to hurt so. I must admit, I'm confused. Have you two quarreled?”

 

You feel like screaming, but you reign it in. “Yeah, you could say that.”

 

Thor considers your statement, blond eyebrows furrowed. “Whatever about? Was he not pleased to see you?”

 

“Thor, look, I don't know if I want to talk about it,” you tell him glumly. “Thus, me being alone up here on the roof.”

 

“Well, I can respect that,” Thor replies, surprising you. “Although I have every faith that the both of you will work things out.”

 

You look over at him, eyebrows arching upwards. “You're…. Huh. Well, thanks.”

 

Thor doesn't reply, and it’s quiet for a few seconds. You get the feeling he’s about to stand up and head back inside. _Good,_ you think. _That’ll be good._

 

And then you hear yourself blurt out, “He was kissing another woman.”

 

Now, Thor’s full attention is on you. “Pardon?”

 

“I saw them kiss. In his room. And it was a pretty long kiss, so…. I don't know.”

 

“Why would he kiss someone else?” Thor questions, absolutely baffled.

 

“I don't know,” you reply, staring back out over the town. “I left before either of us could say something we couldn't take back. I guess she's the one that kissed him, though.”

 

“Oh, well there you have it,” Thor states, clapping your shoulder. “She initiated. A simple misunderstanding, perhaps?”

 

“It's not _simple_ , Thor,” you growl angrily, jerking your shoulder out of his grasp. “She was talking about… saying something about the two of them marrying. And it was a _long_ kiss. He didn't stop her right away. Didn't mention me at all. Didn't once say he was ‘betrothed’, or whatever you guys call it. I mean, is it a common Asgardian thing to be with other people outside of your relationship? Is this a culture thing I'm just not grasping?”

 

Thor looks a bit taken aback by your rant. “No, it is not common. Especially after a proposal. I cannot say what Loki was thinking….. Who was this woman?”

 

“I don't know, I only heard her name once,” you answer, shoving your emotions to the side and doing your best to be apathetic. “Rune, or something like that. Honestly, it doesn't matter who it was.”

 

Thor is quiet, troubled by what you've told him. He’d have figured Loki would have more respect for you than this. “I wish I could apologize for my brother’s behavior, warrior,” Thor finally tells you solemnly.

 

“Don't. It's not your job,” you answer curtly, looking down at your fists resting on your thighs.

 

The prince is at a loss. He wants to offer comfort, but doesn’t know how. He wishes he understood what was going on in his brother’s mind, wishes he could find a way to console you. All he sees is your downcast eyes, your red nose, and the hurt you’re trying so desperately to hide. “Loki is my brother, and you are my friend. I want nothing but the best for the both of you, you must know that,” he says, staring worriedly at you.

 

“I know, Thor,” you reply, sighing and blinking rapidly, doing your best to banish the tears that form in the corners of your eyes.

 

“I pray it's all a misunderstanding,” Thor concludes in his deep voice. “Loki values your love and care, more so than I've ever seen of him. I highly doubt he'd cast all of that aside.”

 

 _Once again, you're naïve, Thor,_ you think, shooting him a glance. “I don't know. I said I'd hear him out, but I needed some time to calm down.”

 

“A wise choice,” Thor praises, and you roll your eyes and look out at the town once more. He glances out towards the desert, where Mjolnir lies. “We both know what consequences I’ve suffered from speaking out of wrath.”

 

“Yeah, I guess so,” you mutter, worrying your lip.

 

You're about to give up and just ask him – ask him if Loki has ever done anything like this before – when you catch movement on the street below. You do a double take, not believing what you're seeing for a moment.

 

Four familiar figures stroll towards Smith Motors.

 

“There are always two sides of a –” Thor starts to say, but you cut him off.

 

“Hey, are you seeing what I'm seeing?”

 

The prince peers down, and then his blue eyes widen as a smile stretches across his face. “It can't be…. But it is! We must get down! Hurry!”

 

“Right,” you agree, and the two of you leap up and frantically rush back to the lab.


	29. Before the Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M NOT DEAD!  
> Sorry, my guys, I have been sick as shit this past week. I had the flu, or something else awful like it. I just really didn't have the energy to think, or write, or anything. But I'm back! We're quickly crashing into the action, so I hope you guys are ready! Thanks for being patient with me. (You all know I like to update at least every three-four days or so. So it's been waaaay too long.) My sick self really appreciates it. <3

Sif walks confidently down the rainbow bridge, her heart pounding loudly in her ears. She's slightly apprehensive, but hopeful.

 

The Gatekeeper has called for them. The Warriors Three follow in their friend’s glowing footsteps, casting nervous looks at one another. Even Hogun the Grim seems on edge.

 

Heimdall stands outside of the golden observatory, his armor glinting in the light of the bridge. His bright eyes take in every detail of the company’s approach, every minuscule expression that flickers over their faces.

 

The four respectfully incline their heads as they come to a stop.

 

“You summoned us, Watcher?” Sif asks.

 

“And you have arrived,” the man agrees, his low voice resonating in their ears.

 

“What do you want with us, Seer?” Fandral speaks up. “I know we’ve been a bother, but we’ll be happy to apologize, should it please you.”

 

Sif shoots her companion a glare, which he returns at once. Heimdall shakes his head, as he has no time for their childish dispute.

 

“I've called you for a reason, warriors,” the Gatekeeper explains. “You must venture to Midgard. You have asked it of me, and now it must be so.”

 

Sif’s spirits soar, and she can't help but grin broadly. “We’re to fetch Thor?”

 

“You're to protect him,” the Seer answers grimly.

 

“Protect him?” Volstagg repeats, eyes widening.

 

“There is a being that hunts Asgard’s prince tonight,” Heimdall says as Sif’s grin slides off her face. “Without his abilities, without more assistance, he will surely perish.”

 

\---

 

Asmund awakens slowly, the world around him muffled and blurry. Voices murmur above him, but it's incredibly difficult for him to focus on the words.

 

A familiar voice sounds above the other, right in front of his face. His brows come together as he blinks rapidly. Golden eyes peer down at him, warm and caring and _worried_.

 

“Sigrid?” he asks, groggily sitting up. “What are you doing here?”

 

“Asmund!” Sigrid exclaims, wrapping her arms around his neck in a relieved embrace. “You were supposed to meet me at the palace! Are you alright?”

 

“I am,” he assures her as she releases him.

 

“She insisted something was wrong,” Master Toril says. The sorceress stands behind Sigrid, looking down at the young man. “Refuses to leave. And I suppose I'll concede that she was right. Why do you rest within the training room, Asmund?”

 

“I…” Asmund begins, putting a hand to his head as he searches for the answer. “I….”

 

He tries to stand, and Sigrid lends him a shoulder. “You're okay, Asmund, there you are. What were you _doing_ , love? You were supposed to meet me! I was so worried. What's left you in such a state?”

 

“You can help him to his bunk, and then you have to leave, madam,” Master Toril interjects, pursing her lips in a frown.

 

“No, no, not my bunk,” Asmund mumbles, blue eyes lighting up as he remembers. “No, I've got to talk to…. I must find King Loki! Or Master Hammond, at the very least.”

 

“Preposterous,” Master Toril scoffs. “It's late, Asmund. You'll see Master Hammond upon the morrow, surely.”

 

“It's urgent!” he insists, staring frantically up at the woman. “I've figured it out, Master! Please!”

 

“Asmund,” Toril says, kinky curls shifting as she shakes her head. “You are confused. I'll let this young woman take you to your bunk, and we’ll not hear another word of this until morning, yes?”

 

“No!” Asmund urges with wide stretched eyes. “Please, you must understand, I…. Stars, I'll do it myself!”

 

And without another word, he flees on unsteady legs, pulling Sigrid along behind him. Master Toril sighs, shaking her head once more in exasperation. “Go on, then!” she calls after the pair. “Bother the king. It's no fault of mine if you get yourself expelled from the guild.”

 

\---

 

Darcy and Jane stand in the kitchenette, talking with Erik as he prepares to leave for the night. The three look over in surprise as you and Thor skid into the room, the prince’s bright gaze going immediately to the large front windows.

 

“Thor? What's happening?” Jane questions, looking between the two of you.

 

“We’ve got company,” you tell her, and Erik looks rather alarmed.

 

“Company?” the man asks, grabbing Thor’s arm as he passes. “Where are you going?”

 

“To unlock the door!” Thor replies, grinning at Selvig.

 

“For who?” Darcy asks, seeming slightly apprehensive as she looks from you to Thor.

 

There is a knock on the front window, and all eyes go to the door. Behind the glass stands Sif and the Warriors Three, who all are apparently _absolutely_ overjoyed at the sight of the god of thunder.

 

“My friends!” Thor bellows, extracting his arm from Erik’s grip and barreling towards the door.

 

The excitement of the Asgardians grows as Thor unlocks the door.

 

“His friends?” Jane asks as she steps up beside you.

 

You fear that the glass door will shatter as it’s wrenched open. The four friends fall upon their lost companion in a bout of blows and embraces that makes you roll your eyes. You're taken back to the nightly feasts, when such behavior was natural to all present save for you. Now, however, you are not the only onlooker who cannot seem to grasp this odd form of welcome.

 

“Are they hurting each other?” Darcy questions.

 

“Maybe. Who knows? They're always like that,” you state, shaking your head.

 

“You live!” you hear Sif exclaim. “Thank the Norns!”

 

“The walk here was horrid,” Volstagg adds. “And seeing your ugly face hasn’t made it worth it!” He rubs his knuckles roughly against the prince’s scalp, whose laughter booms out into the room.

 

“My friends,” Thor says again, grinning like a fool as he breaks away from the group. “You're here! But how? Such a thing…” his eyes widen, and the smile slowly fades off his face as he continues,” … such a thing is treason, surely!”

 

“Heimdall sent us, Thor,” Sif tells him, looking behind her at the tall windows. “We’re to help you. We were worried we’d be too late. But the fates are on our side, it seems.”

 

“It’s true,” Hogun agrees. “The Gatekeeper has seen what’s after you, Thor.”

 

“What's after him?” you interject, and the five suddenly remember that there are others in the room.

 

“Warrior! It's good to see you well, too!” Fandral exclaims, although he cannot fully hide his apprehension.

 

Your brows come together in confusion. Why would Fandral be nervous concerning you? He'd always been cordial and welcoming.

 

Hogun watches you and the humans with distrust, and Volstagg and Sif both step forward further into the room.

 

“Hold the serious talk for a moment,” Thor says, lifting his hand. “My friends, meet Jane Foster, Darcy Lewis, and Erik Selvig, all of Midgard. They have been our caretakers and companions.” He then gestures to the Warriors Three and Sif. “Jane, Darcy, Erik, I give you the Lady Sif, Volstagg the Valiant, Fandral the Dashing, and Hogun the Grim.”

 

“Hey,” Darcy answers, nodding her head in greeting.

 

“Right,” Erik mumbles, shaking his head. “Why not?”

 

“Pleasure,” Sif says, a slight edge in her voice. She locks eyes with you and steps closer as she speaks. “Warrior, I doubt Loki is aware of our presence here…. Should he find out, I'm not so sure he’d… well… approve.”

 

And now you understand why Thor’s friends eye you so. You let out a short laugh, your stomach clenching at the sound of the king’s name. “I'm not talking to him anytime soon. So, you don't have to worry about that. Trust me.”

 

Sif’s stern expression relaxes, and Volstagg and Fandral seem relieved. Only Hogun continues to stare at you in suspicion.

 

“What… uh… brings you all here?” Erik asks.

 

“Said something about a thing being after Thor?” Darcy presses.

 

You walk up to the group of Asgardians as they once more turn to look at the prince. You're thankful when Sif moves to the window as a precaution, peering out at the dark street.

 

“Heimdall said a monster hunts you tonight,” Fandral says to Thor, blue eyes wide. “A ‘monster that is one with other monsters’. He’s most cryptic at times, but there's no mistaking the threat.”

 

“He said the beasts are skilled,” Volstagg states, pulling nervously at his red beard as he talks. “That even the Bloody Warrior isn't enough to keep you safe.”

 

“Even Heimdall calls me that?” you question, your pride stinging a little.

 

“No, he didn't,” Sif assures from her place by the window. “But he said it's too much for one person to take on. Even you.”

 

“Well, that's not comforting at all,” you mutter.

 

“And the Watcher says this killer intends to come tonight?” Thor asks seriously, his eyes narrowed.

 

“He did, yes,” Hogun speaks up. “And he would not have sent us lest it was urgent.” He looks over at you, locking eyes and making you uncomfortable. “The king takes your banishment most seriously, Thor.”

 

“I'm sure,” Thor comments, shrugging in an attempt to diffuse the situation. “Well, we will be ready, then, won't we? I understand this situation is not ideal, but I'm most overjoyed to see you all once more!”

 

“There are men watching us from the rooftops,” Sif interjects, squinting as she peers upward. “We noticed them on our way into town. I had thought most Midgardians would be asleep or indoors.”

 

“It's probably S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Jane pipes up from the back of the room. “The, um, government, I mean. They've most likely been monitoring these two for a while now.”

 

Sif holds Jane’s gaze for a long moment before asking, “Are they a threat?”

 

“Not right now, no,” Erik states, crossing his arms. “It sounds like there are bigger problems on the horizon.”

 

“And coming closer every moment,” Hogun growls, casting a side glance at the door.

 

“We need a plan,” you say, worrying your lip. “These things are no joke.”

 

“You've seen them?” Volstagg asks.

 

“She's fought them,” Thor informs them.

 

“Tell us, then,” Fandral states, clapping a hand on your shoulder much like you're used to Thor doing. “We must be prepared for anything.”

 

\---

 

“Fool!” he spits, magic upending his end table as he paces past.

 

Loki doesn't know who the word is aimed at. The blasted princess? His council? You? The abhorrent circumstances, the absolutely abysmal situation was brought about by many. There are plenty to blame, and his raving thoughts have no trouble finding targets.

 

The wretched princess had come to his chambers! An arrogantly bold move for a woman of her stature, to seek out the king of the realms! And she had kissed him, had placed her lips upon his without a moment’s pause, without asking for his consent! How _dare_ she?! He is a _king_ , and she was so bold as to kiss him, to talk with him within his sitting room. The audacity makes his head spin.

 

And his _council_ , he’ll have the men strung up. He grinds his teeth as he thinks about Colborn and Egil, their smug faces and conspiring glances. They've _always_ despised him, never seen him as a fit ruler, despite the moves he's made to keep his people secure. Never mind that he's kept the encroaching war at a standstill, never mind the talks of peace he's been attempting to negotiate. They've seen him as nothing more than a shadow of Odin, the unworthy son sitting a throne that does not belong to him. _They_ invited the easterners here. _They_ put him in this position.

 

And _you._ He snarls angrily as he paces, the bookshelf he'd had crafted for you toppling over as he passes. _You_! Showing up out of nowhere, unannounced. Eavesdropping, spying on him, the king! How can he marry someone who has no respect for him?! You never have. He hates it.

 

He follows the trail of thought, spiraling down, thinking of everything he despises about you.

 

How you insist on training with _Thor_ and his band of bumbling boars. How you speak to him callously in public, in front of his family, his subjects, it matters not to you. He hates your odd idioms, your crass way of speech that makes you sound uneducated in his eyes. He hates….

 

He hates this feeling in his chest. That he's done something that he cannot undo. He detests that he's let himself care so much for you that it hurts now. What a foolish, _foolish_ man. He was going to marry you.

 

“Who _am_ I?!” he asks aloud in horror.

 

He can hardly recognize himself anymore. His actions haven't been making sense. He would risk his kingdom for a woman? Risk losing this power for a single person? What a fool! A fool!

 

But it hurts, his chest hurts, his stomach twists as if snakes writhe within it. He is unsettled. Placing this blame on you, on the council, on the princess, it is natural to him, but it feels _wrong_. But it can't be wrong, because then who is left to blame but himself?

 

And he can't do that. He won't.

 

He shakes his head, tries to go back to thinking about what he despises about you, just as he had long ago. When you woke from a bed of blood and stared at him with angry eyes full of polished steel, and words as sharp as iron.

 

But the feeling won't come. He thinks on you, yes, but the emotion isn't there. Your actions, your speech, they make up who you are. Were you any different, you wouldn't be… intriguing. Different. _Interesting_. And Loki has always loved _interesting_.

 

He groans, still seething, and probes at the wall between his mind and yours. It stands strong and tall, although hurt seeps from underneath.

 

“Fool,” he says aloud once more, although this time he knows who he names.

 

The king’s feet stop by the upended bookshelf, and he stoops over to right it. A single flick of his fingers would be all it would take to send the books skittering back to their rightful places within the wooden shelf. Instead, he picks them up one by one, the sorry fool that he is.

 

\---

 

“I'm telling you, it matters not,” King Halvar states dismissively. “Have him kill Thor and be done with it. Your tactics have been long drawn out, Jerrik. I'll suffer them no further.”

 

“Sire, they were so far…. There was no other way…. How else would we have…? We have no access to the Bifrost, my lord, what else could we have –”

 

“Silence!” Halvar commands, slamming the butt of the golden scepter onto the stone floor of the throne room. He rises from his seat, his guards standing at attention on either side of them. “I've called you, sorcerer, because everything is, at last, _ready_.”

 

“My lord?” Jerrik asks, rising from his bowed position to look upon the barbarian king's face.

 

“You have heard me,” Halvar says, smiling wickedly. “We ride to Asgard, sorcerer. To your homeland.” The smile widens into something that is not a smile, teeth flashing in a bared snarl as the king delivers his next statement. “And I will show you how to go about ending lives with _haste_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckle up, buttercup. ;)


	30. An Eye for an Eye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you buckle like I told you to? You gotta' buckle up for safety.

Loki picks up another book, a sigh welling in his chest. It's been silent for a long time, and his chaotic thoughts have begun to hiss more quietly. Each book makes him think of you, of your hurt, accusing stare.

 

Your chosen novels are all tales of some sort. He'd asked you months ago why you preferred stories over knowledge. Yes, nonfiction literature is normally more dry, but the payoff is worth the expenditure in Loki’s opinion. But you'd told him you liked _stories_ , the different wild adventures and chaos that characters have to face.

 

“Books are controlled by the author,” you'd attempted to explain to him. “The writer can end it however they like, change what they want. There's no real danger here, not for the reader. It's nice, for a change, to just enjoy an adventure at no cost.”

 

And you'd given him a half-smile before settling back against his chest and flipping the page in your novel.

 

The memory stings as he shelves your favorite books.

 

_I did this._

The only way he can approach you, the only way he can even begin to make up for his actions is to first admit he is at fault. It's hard for him. A pompous and arrogant creature, the admission tastes vile, even without crossing his tongue.

 

 _I did this_ , he thinks to you, although the words reach no further than the wall between your minds, bouncing back to him in a sort of mental echo.

 

He's still not done shelving when a frantic knocking sounds at his door. Loki’s irritation returns, a snarl twisting his lips as he glares up at the source of the noise.

 

“What?!” he shouts fiercely, the word bitten off at the end with a snap of his teeth.

 

And the voice that answers him is _not_ one that he expected to hear.

 

“My lord! Please, I've a matter of utmost importance to discuss!”

 

It's… it's the boy. Your half-pint sorcerer.

 

“Go away, boy,” Loki growls. “I'll see no more visitors tonight.”

 

“Sir, it’s urgent!”

 

Now the king is even more taken aback. That's your servant girl – or, your once servant girl. What fresh impudence is this, that he should have these two children pounding on his door in the night?

 

“It is!” Asmund’s voice agrees hurriedly. “Sir, I found him! I know who was putting a hold on the Bloody Warrior!”

 

Loki’s thoughts freeze, his entire body going stiff as several things suddenly click into place. In all of the chaos, he'd forgotten to question _how_ you had arrived within his chambers. You'd traveled, using your beloved shadows, when you had been unable to do so before.

 

He raises a hand to the door, and it flies open. Asmund (who had been leaning intently upon the door) stumbles suddenly into the room, almost losing his footing. Sigrid hurries in after him, quickly steadying him once more.

 

“Explain yourself, child,” Loki orders, glaring down at the two. “How would you be able to come across such knowledge?”

 

 _When I could not,_ he finishes within his mind.

 

The pair bow quickly before him, the girl casting a wide-eyed glance at the messy room as she does so.

 

“Sir, I…. It was my father, sir,” Asmund says, his throat tight.

 

“Your father?” Loki questions coldly.

 

“Jerrik, sir,” Asmund says, nodding quickly. “I-I was looking for him. Tracing magic similar to my own. And earlier this evening I… I found him.” The boy takes a deep breath, and Loki waits impatiently for him to continue. “I traced the magic, sire, and it led to Midgard. To the warrior. And in the other direction I saw _him_ , in a room of stone, far away. He… he cut the magic off, and I lost consciousness.”

 

 _Traced magic similar to his own,_ Loki thinks, staring at the blue-eyed boy. _Clever._

He opens his mouth to reply when the door to his chambers is forcibly slammed open, wood bouncing loudly against the wall.

 

“Word from Heimdall, sir!” the guard shouts, eyes wildly searching the room until they land on the king. “My lord, the Gatekeeper says our enemies are upon us!”

 

And then the room shakes, the floor and walls vibrating from the impact of some large force nearby.

 

“What?” Sigrid whispers, her fingers gripping Asmund’s arm tightly.

 

“Not much of a warning,” the boy says under his breath, biting the inside of his cheek in worry.

 

Loki’s mouth goes dry, and he is instantly all business, all war. His armor and war helm form as he walks to the nearest window to look out over his city.

 

And he sees Asgard burning.

 

\---

 

The Hunter walks down the road, boots kicking up dust with every step. He's in no rush. He does not fear what lies ahead, such is his confidence. He has killed the men that were sent to follow him and his beasts, save for the archer.

 

He has respect for the man, truly. To have survived, to have escaped the jaws of his pack is not an easy feat. The Hunter holds within his mind the image of the bowman clinging to a rope, dangling from a helicopter, and will be forever, begrudgingly, impressed.

 

But now the agents are gone. His eye still stings, as your friend had reopened it once more, but he is well enough to complete his task. He blames you for the latest loss to his pack. She is your friend, and your refusal to comply is what sent his beast to her in the first place. His pack is now of two, and he feels the loss deeply.

 

The beasts lumber on either side of him, tongues lolling out of their mouths as they pant. They're eager as well, salivating at the scent of their target.

 

The building comes into view, and the Hunter is slightly surprised to find not one, but five people standing between him and his prey.

 

You watch him approach, sword clenched tightly in your fist. Sif and the Warriors Three shift in their places, unsettled by the sight of the two beasts.

 

“Well, we were right about the bastards being his pets,” you comment dryly. “They’re all just _unnatural_.”

 

“Holy Hel,” Fandral murmurs. “It's a lot different seeing them, I'll tell you that.”

 

“Helbeasts, they are,” Volstagg agrees, his voice rumbling in his chest.

 

“Be ready,” Hogun murmurs, lifting his mace.

 

There is no pause in the Hunter’s pace. He lifts his arm, wicked, curved blade in hand, and the two monsters rocket forward towards Smith Motors.

 

Thor’s friends immediately step up, weapons at the ready, teeth bared. No creature shall pass them.

 

 _Split them,_ the Hunter orders.

 

And then he turns to you.

 

You vault towards him, using your energy to push yourself faster, and you try to end this battle before it can begin. You aim for his neck, your blade inches from that red scarf, when in a flash, he is gone.

 

You feel the bite of his hooked weapon as you flinch away, the metal catching your arm as he zips past.

 

 _He’s fast_ , you realize, skidding to a stop in the dust and whirling around to barely block his next attack. _All that clothing doesn't slow him down at **all**._

And you realize just how fucked you would've been if Heimdall had not sent Sif and the Warriors Three to your aid. You can cut through armies, slay hordes of Jotnar, destroy enemy after enemy. But your foes usually focus on _you_ , not someone else. Trenchcoat himself could keep you busy were you alone, and the two beasts would be on Thor in a heartbeat. Hell, you'd barely been able to fight one of those monstrosities, how were you to destroy two alongside their master?

 

“Fandral! Behind you!” Sif calls, slashing at the hideous face of the beast in front of her.

 

The blond man drops to the ground and rolls, barely missing the jaws that snap closed where his head had just been. Hogun smashes the maw of the second beast, hoping to break its teeth. Instead, it bites down on his mace and shakes its head as a growl gurgles in its throat.

 

Sif rams her sword through the first beast’s ribs, attempting to draw its attention from Volstagg. The man swings his axe down towards the monster’s eyes, but the beast pulls back with a snarl, dragging Sif along with it. Volstagg raises his weapon once more, charging after them.

 

Away from the other two.

 

Sure enough, Thor’s friends have been split up.

 

Hogun loses his grip on the mace, and when the creature releases it, it goes flying to the side. Fandral shouts, slashing at the beast’s belly. The flesh tears, although no blood spills. The smell of death that expels from the creature’s gut is enough to make him gag.

 

It bowls him over, Fandral’s sword driving straight through its chest as it struggles to reach his face. He loses his grip on the hilt as the creature jostles on top of him, and he puts his hands up on its neck as its teeth snap repeatedly at his face, spittle flecking his cheeks and forehead.

 

Hogun forgoes retrieving his mace, and instead pulls a dagger from his belt, readying to leap upon the monster’s back.

 

From behind the windows of Smith Motors, Jane, Erik, and Darcy all do their best to keep Thor from rushing outside.

 

“This is shameful of me!” he laments, his expression pained. “I stand and watch my friends do battle while I hide like a coward!”

 

“You can't go out there, Thor!” Jane insists again. “It won't help anything!”

 

“You're not a coward,” Darcy adds, her face pale as she watches the ongoing fight. She can see the yellow eyes glowing in the darkness. “Those things want to rip you to shreds, and you're still trying to get out.”

 

“Listen to them, Thor,” Erik agrees. “You'll only get in the way.”

 

Thor grinds his teeth, blue eyes flitting between the three battles. Sif and Volstagg face their beast together as it does its best to get past their defenses. Its glowing eyes flash towards the windows of the building at every available moment, and Thor feels as if it can see him. Blood weeps from Sif’s shoulder, and he can tell that Volstagg is limping.

 

Hogun and Fandral fair worse. Thor watches with bated breath as Hogun takes a running leap at the creature, whose jaws are too close to closing around Fandral’s head. Hogun’s dagger sinks into the monster’s neck as his feet struggle to gain purchase on its skin, and it rears up on its hind legs, freeing the blond warrior in the process.

 

Your fire flares from the corner of Thor’s eye, and he turns his attention to you. Blood trails down your arms, although no deep wounds are evident. You are known for your speed and sword skill, but the man you face matches you for both.

 

You can't get through his defense, and you're disturbed to find that your blade feels heavy in your hand. Your sleepless nights are coming back to bite you, sapping your strength and energy quickly.

 

You sidestep a strike from Trenchcoat and lunge forward swiftly, switching sword hands at the last moment. You finally connect, your blade singing as it slashes through the air and into the man’s side.

 

He grunts, although he seems unfazed otherwise, and retaliates just as fiercely. You're shocked when a line of red opens across the man’s forehead, blood flowing down his nose. You hadn't hit him… so where had the wound come from?

 

You back away quickly, putting some space between the two of you. It's only then that you notice spatters of dark blood peppering the ground around your opponent. His dark clothes show no sign of bloodshed, but you are starting to think there's more going on than meets the eye.

 

But there's not much time for thought in a battle. Whatever is hurting him, you're thankful for it. You move up again, praying you can use this to quickly gain the upper hand before you're too exhausted to fight on.

 

\---

 

The people of Asgard scream. The collective sound of fear is carried up into the night sky, bouncing off of building walls that topple as the barbarians and their allies flood the city from the west.

 

Explosions rattle the windows of houses to the south as troops of foreign sorcerers slowly make their way towards the palace. Entire families burn, trapped in their bedrooms, lungs filling with smoke and ash.

 

And from the north comes the monsters of the realm. The Jotnar soldiers bring with them an icy chill, not unlike death itself. Frost laces over the cobbled streets as their forces burst through doors and windows, victims fleeing straight into the arms of other enemies.

 

King Laufey strides through the palace gardens, ruby gaze locked onto the golden palace. Flowers wilt in his wake, the leaves on the trees freezing over and crumbling in pieces to the ground. The water that rushes in the fountains, the little garden pools, slows to a stop, the familiar burbling sounds silencing as the Jotun passes.

 

He was promised Odin. That was the price for Jotunheim’s assistance. And he intends to receive his prize.

 

\---

 

 _He's too fast_ , you think in dismay, feeling pain lace up the outside of your thigh. You bare your teeth and leap up, your sword barely catching the fabric on Trenchcoat’s shoulder as you rush past him.

 

Hogun shouts in anger as the creature’s claws rake across his side. Fandral dashes closer to the beast’s chest, his fingers closing around the hilt of his sword. The monster’s head snaps down, and its jaws open wide as it hisses.

 

Hogun’s arm swings around quickly, his legs locking around the beast’s chest as he plunges his dagger down straight into its eye socket again and again and again. The monster shrieks, the sound painful to hear, and it flails wildly as dies. Hogun leaps off of its shoulders and hits the ground, his breath leaving him in an audible _oof_.

 

Simultaneously, the other creature and the Hunter scream. You're shocked to the core when blood streams down the front of the man’s face, and although his eye is hidden behind those dark glasses, you suddenly understand.

 

His hooked blade falls to the ground.

 

You rush him, to get the best of him during this time of pain, only to feel a gloved hand close around your throat.

 

He’d _caught_ you before you could reach him.

 

You form a dagger and jab it repeatedly into his side, but he doesn't seem to notice or care. The man slams you to the ground, your head smacking into the hard earth and leaving your ears ringing. But you can still hear him, you can see your wide eyes reflected in the black lenses of his glasses.

 

“You _bitch_! You _bitch_! Our eye again, you _bitch_!” His voice grates against his throat, his words coming out strained and angry.

 

He straddles your chest, his hand still clamped tightly around your neck. You form another dagger and try to slice his hand from his body, but he roughly uses his other hand to throw your arm to the ground and stomp it with his foot.

 

Were you a human, you're positive the bone in your arm would've snapped in two. You let out a strangled scream, the noise muted from your lack of air. You're seeing spots, you can't think. His free hand goes to his belt, beneath his jacket, and he unsheathes a hunting knife.

 

“An eye for an eye,” the man above you growls, blood from his face falling onto your cheek as he leans over. “An eye for an eye, you bitch.”

 

And then a shape barrels into him, knocking him off of you. You inhale raspy breaths as you roll over, your left arm throbbing.

 

You hear Sif shouting, the heavy feet of a beast pounding your way.

 

You feel your eyes widen as you realize _Thor_ wrestles with your assailant, who at once has the upper hand despite all of his injuries.

 

The Hunter easily breaks Thor’s grip and pushes him backwards, toppling him over.

 

And Thor reaches out, his fingers catching in the man’s red scarf as he falls.

 

And your mouth drops in shock as you see a face revealed.

 

And the hunting knife arcs down, down towards the face of the god of thunder.

 

And Thor’s deep voice screams in agony as the blade sinks into his left eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate title: In which Thor becomes more like his father than he ever thought he would


	31. All for Naught

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ODE now has 300 kudos?! What the hell??? I'm so shocked and happy!!  
> Thank you all for supporting this story. <3 I don't have words right now to express how much it means to me.
> 
> Now, in other news, it's 3am here, and I'm going to sleep.

Loki turns from the window, from the distant, terrified screams of his people, and starts barking orders at once.

 

“Guard,” he says, and the man’s back straightens immediately. “You report to Captain Eira, yes?”

 

“I do, sir,” the guard answers. “I’m her second in command, sir.”

 

“Send word to your captain,” Loki tells him. “I want all who are in the palace to be taken safely down to the siege rooms. Hopefully this will already be taking place, should our people have a shred of common sense.” The king frowns before continuing. “Eira is to escort my mother. Bring Father. She won’t leave him. And you,” he jabs a finger at the man before him, “ensure our eastern guests are safe. I’m placing the princess in your care. She must reach the siege rooms, understood?”

 

“Yes, sire,” the guard states, bowing low with a fist over his heart. “I’ll send a man to inform the captain right away.”

 

“Then be gone,” Loki says, and the man nods before rushing from the room.

 

The king then turns to Asmund, who meets his gaze levelly. “I’m ready, sire.”

 

“Go to Hammond. He’ll be at the guild, preparing everyone to move out.” Loki gives this order without a hint of emotion, his expression hardened and cold.

 

Asmund briefly takes Sigrid’s hand and squeezes, a shared emotional moment passing between the two, and then slowly releases her. He steps forward towards Loki and inclines his head. “Sire, should my father arrive –”

 

“No,” Loki says with finality. “You’ll do as Hammond says, and nothing more.”

 

Asmund meets the king’s green gaze for a long moment before bowing. “As you wish.”

 

Loki watches the boy leave, eyes following every step until the door has closed behind him. The king mentally steels himself for what’s to come. He’s prepared to make haste. Obasi will have the troops together and on the move by now, and Loki intends to join the battle at once. He must locate whoever has orchestrated this attack.

 

“Brenna….”

 

The word is a whisper, but Loki turns to find your Sigrid staring out of his window, golden eyes stretched wide.

 

“What?” Loki snaps, returning the girl’s attention to the other person present in the room.

 

“I must go!” Sigrid says quickly, turning from the horrifying sight of her broken city and attempting to rush past the king.

 

Loki’s long fingers catch the back of her dress, his mouth pressed into a thin line. “You will not.”

 

“Let go!” Sigrid insists, struggling furiously, and she’s very surprised when he complies. The girl smooths her dress and turns to face the fearsome king. “She’s alone – Asmund’s mother. I have to go, sir!”

 

“You will _not_ ,” Loki repeats. “You’re to make your way to the siege rooms. I’m assuming your memory is decent at best; you should know the passages the servants take. Such paths should be fairly safe, even for a child. I’ll send a guard with you if you think the trek too dangerous. Assuming we have a man to spare, of course.”

 

Sigrid’s mouth falls open, speechless for a heartbeat or two. “With all due respect, I’m not a servant anymore. I don’t belong to the palace, and I have no place here,” she finally replies.

 

“Girl, are you daft?” Loki growls. “Are you defying an order from your king?”

 

“I…” Sigrid blanches, her fingers fumbling at the pocket of her dress. “No, sire, it’s just… Asmund’s mother is….”

 

“Look outside again, child!” Loki exclaims, gesturing to the window. “Listen to the wails of the dying! And you would rush to join them?”

 

 “You would care?” she asks incredulously, her eyes accusing, dubious of his normally callous nature.

 

“Not me,” he scoffs, lifting his chin. “I’ve no time for this argument. You’ll go to the palace depths, and I’ll suffer no further insubordination. But first, I require your assistance.”

 

Loki walks closer to her, his gaze begrudging. Sigrid takes a tentative step back, swallowing nervously. “What is it?”

 

“You’re going to contact the warrior in my stead,” he instructs. “She must know we face battle.”

 

 _Just in case_ , he adds silently, a phantom echo of pain thrumming through his chest as a morbid reminder.

 

“I cannot reach her, sire,” Sigrid tries to tell him, shaking her head. “I’ve tried.”

 

“And you’ll try again,” he tells her, reaching out and gripping her shoulder. “With my assistance, you’ll find her.”

 

She feels it at once; a powerful magic flooding her senses. Everything in her screams _danger_ , his presence too strong, too overwhelming within her mind. Sigrid considers withdrawing from his grasp. But you trust this man. And she trusts you.

 

She isn’t sure why it must be her to contact you, why he doesn’t do it himself, but Sigrid pushes her doubts to the side and focuses. She reaches for you within her mind, searching farther than she ever has before. It’s immediately taxing, but she perseveres.

 

Loki watches the girl’s face, how her eyes glaze over as her thoughts attempt to locate you. He hates this, but he cannot tear down your mental wall for fear of harming your mind. But hearing from the girl will be safe. And he’ll ensure she’s kept alive, sheltered behind palace walls.

 

You’d have his head if you found out he’d done anything less.

 

Sigrid’s gasp brings him out of his thoughts. Her hands rise to cover her mouth, her eyes wide and fearful. “Stars,” she whispers.

 

His heart plummets, his already unsettled stomach jolting once more. “What?” he demands, fingers digging harder into the girl’s shoulder. “What’s happened to her?”

 

Sigrid shakes her head, tears unknowingly starting to slip down her cheeks. “His _eye_.”

 

\---

 

A flash of lightning illuminates the night sky, a low rumble of thunder following quickly behind it. A storm is brewing, the threat of rain sitting heavy and humid in the air.

 

Thor is still screaming.

 

He had seen it coming. Not enough time to do anything, not even fast enough to blink. The sharp point, the metal flashing brightly just before sinking into its target.

 

The pain is unlike anything he’s ever felt, anything he could’ve imagined. Every small movement of the blade sets his nerve endings on fire. And the darkness that obscures his vision, warm blood trickling down his cheek, the heavy breathing of the man above him.

 

It’s too much.

 

He’s losing consciousness.

 

You shakily get to your feet, your gaze trained on the man as he pulls his knife from Thor’s eye. The prince screams again, the sound making the hairs on the back of your neck prickle. You’ve never heard Thor like this, never seen him wounded in such a way.

 

There’s no saving that eye, that bloody mess. You ready yourself to rush forward, ignoring the black spots speckling your vision, when something large flies past.

 

The last beast lands between you and its master, its muzzle pulled back in a feral snarl. But it does not jump for you, does not attack. It simply bars the way, as if daring you to step closer. You’re quickly joined by Thor’s companions, who gather to your right.

 

Sif is shouting, her voice tearing from her throat in earnest. It takes a moment for Thor to gather himself, to be able to think through the quite literal blinding pain.

 

The Hunter puts his knife to the target’s throat and then tilts his head to the sky. “Do you see this, sorcerer? We’ve got him.”

 

“What?” Thor mumbles, the movements of his words against the blade opening a thin, red line across his neck.

 

There’s a moment’s pause, in which it feels as if everyone around you is holding their breath.

“Not yet,” the Hunter growls suddenly. “Not until you do what you promised us. You said you’d fix me.”

 

Your eyes go to what you can see of the man’s face. His skin seems too tight for his skull, and patches near his neck look almost _scaly_. His features appear exaggerated and warped, twisted in unnatural ways. Behind thin lips sit pointed teeth, which he bares into a snarl before his next sentence.

 

“Not until you fix me.”

 

Thor groans, his fingers flexing as thunder booms in the distance once more. You swallow, your heart pounding, your mind racing. Do you have enough energy to get to him? To stop Trenchcoat before he cuts Thor’s throat? You feel as if you’re about to pass out, but you have to do _something_.

 

He’d saved you.

 

You hear Jane call out Thor’s name, loud and panicked. Erik rushes out of the building after her, catching her arms and stopping her frantic sprint towards the felled prince. Darcy holds the door to Smith Motors open, gnawing on her lip as she watches. The beast twists its head and _hisses_ at them, which makes the intern shudder.

 

“No,” the Hunter says softly. “No…. Liar! LIAR!”

 

The words reverberate through the man’s mind again and again, spoken hastily, rushed, and always so _proper_. But the Hunter knows the meaning.

 

Never could’ve fixed him. The bastard sorcerer _never_ – _could’ve_ – _fixed_ him. This hunt was all for naught. The deaths of his pack, utterly _meaningless_. He wrenches his scarf from the target’s grasp, the fabric dusty from the blond man’s thrashing.

 

With a swift snap, he shakes whatever dirt he can from the scarf and then winds it carefully around his neck and face. Disgusted, he turns from the bloody scene before him and begins to walk, the sorcerer’s voice berating him with every step.

 

The monster’s hackles fall, and it casts a hungry glance at Thor before loping obediently after its master.

 

And with that, Hunter and beast disappear from sight.

 

At once, all present surge forward as fast as they are able, a unit of people connected through their concern for a single man. Sif reaches Thor first, kneeling by his head. He’s been silent for too long, and you’re worried he’s gone into shock.

 

Jane’s already tearing at her shirt, trying to rip the fabric into strips as she runs, and she looks up at you helplessly when she finally reaches the group. You summon your dagger and hand it to her, keeping your distance from the growing crowd around the fallen man.

 

But you can see his eye.

 

Or… what used to be an eye.

 

You’ve been witness to many horrendous injuries in your lifetime. Hell, you’ve inflicted _countless_ wounds _far_ more gruesome than this.

 

But he’d saved you, and this was the price of your failure. You feel _weak_ , at a loss, he’d had to assist you and now.... You can’t stop staring at the bloody socket, the ravaged remains of Thor’s left eye.

 

Once more, you’re reminded that there’s nothing you can do here. You have no power to assist, no healing abilities, and you’re running on fumes anyway. But you have your doubts that magic or power of any kind could piece together the pulpy mess of….

 

You feel nauseous, the memory replaying unwanted within your mind. The man, he’d _twisted_ the knife….

 

You hear fabric tear; Jane’s making use of your dagger, slicing off a large strip of her shirt before dropping the weapon. You’re thankful when she crouches on Thor’s other side, her hands shaking as she tries to stop the bleeding. Darcy runs back to Smith Motors for a first aid kit, cursing under her breath.

 

Thor groans as lightning flashing brightly and booming thunder tears through the night once more.

 

 _It looks worse in the light_ , you decide grimly.

 

 _Stars_. _His_ **_eye_**.

 

You blink, the voice cutting through your inner thoughts. You wonder if you’re hallucinating. You must be. You haven’t heard that voice in _weeks_.

 

_Siggy?_

_Y-Yes, it’s me._

You realize an argument has started between Sif and Jane. Jane has bound Thor’s eye, but wants to take him to the hospital, to be treated immediately. Sif insists he be taken back to Asgard at once.

 

_Wow. What’s…. What’s going on, then?_

 

It’s hard for you to focus on anything other than the situation at hand. Hogun has been watching you, and his eyes narrow angrily when you accidentally meet his gaze. His glare traps you tightly within a flood of searing, white-hot guilt. You don’t have to ask. You know what he’s thinking, because you’re in agreement on the subject.

 

This is your fault. It should’ve been you.

 

_Is he alive?_

Sigrid’s question brings you back, breaks your eye contact with Hogun, leads you to peer intently at Thor’s body. You rub your face in relief once you note the rise and fall of the prince’s chest, and you do your best to ignore how the continued conflict is quickly escalating in volume. You’ve got to answer Siggy.

 

_Yeah, yeah, he’s alive. What’s… going on, Sig? How are you talking to me?_

You’re tired. The exhaustion is seeping into your thoughts, making them short, choppy.

 

 _There’s…._ She hesitates, then softly says your name. You register the fear in her voice, and your uneasiness increases as she continues. _There’s a lot going on. There’s… there’s a battle._

You suddenly feel alert, your stomach twinging painfully. _What?_

_Asgard is under attack. Everyone is fighting. The king... and A-Asmund. And Loki says… he says he loves you._

 

Your thoughts stutter over an answer, and then, quite abruptly, she’s gone. The silence, the sudden lack of her presence, seems unnerving after the familiarity of your little friend. Her words linger in your thoughts, making repeated echoes in your tired mind.

 

_He says he loves you._

 

 _Just in case,_ you realize, lip between your teeth as new worry blossoms in your chest. _Just in case one of us doesn’t make it this time._

 

\---

 

Jerrik had no way to imagine how it would truly feel to hold such a powerful, arcane weapon in his own two hands. The scepter is beautiful, but it’s the _power_ radiating from it that is breathtaking. The sorcerer can’t help but admire the metalwork of the weapon, the pointed, almost blade-like tip, the ornate designs of the twisted gold. And the blue stone, the object practically projecting unfathomable energy, that frees him of his inhibitions and doubts.

 

He feels as if he can conquer anything, conquer _Asgard_ , that all of his aspirations are within his grasp. They always have been. Jerrik realizes that the only one holding him back, the one stopping him from gaining true power, is _himself_.

 

This is who he is meant to be – a man of ambition, finally uninhibited.

 

“You don’t deserve such a thing, you know,” Halvar comments as the two walk casually up the rainbow bridge. “However, your information regarding Asgard’s defenses is worth a period of reward. You’re to return the artifact to me upon the battle’s conclusion.”

 

“Of course, sire,” Jerrik lies. “I understand completely.”

 

“It’s time to put your newfound power to the test, sorcerer,” the barbarian king continues, staring ahead at the golden observatory. “We’ll see if the tales are true, yes? I’m sure you’re eager to experiment.”

 

“I am, sir,” Jerrik agrees. “The Gatekeeper is a mighty foe.”

 

“And a mighty ally, should he be… _inclined_ to assist us,” Halvar states.

 

“As you say, my lord,” Jerrik agrees, nodding.

 

Sounds of a skirmish can be heard from the housing of the Bifrost. Halvar watches with interest as the sorcerer boldly strides ahead. Jerrik seems a different man, a more solid and capable figure. Such is the power of the golden weapon.

 

The scepter does not take the wielder’s mind; it simply allows them to act upon their own impulses, their darkest thoughts, without doubt or consideration of failure. When turned upon foes, however….

 

Halvar has his doubts that such a thing will be capable of controlling Asgard’s Seer in any aspect, but he’s quite curious on the matter and perfectly willing to let Jerrik take the fall if necessary. There are other methods of insuring the scepter reaches its intended, should this experiment go poorly.

 

It makes Halvar’s lips curl into a large, mean smile.

 

Jerrik’s pace slows to a halt, and Halvar cocks an eyebrow as the sorcerer turns to face the way from which they’d walked. “So,” he says, “you’ve come to us, have you?”

 

The barbarian king spins on his heel to find a king of a different kind standing before him. The Asgardian smirks, twirling Odin’s legendary spear, the mighty Gungnir. Halvar is unnerved to see the bodies of his guards strewn across the path, the bridge’s glow illuminating every dark pool of red.

 

“I’ve come to protect my kingdom, yes,” Loki states, a cold fire burning in his emerald eyes.

 

“And a fair job you’ve done this kingdom so far, sir!” Halvar exclaims, clapping his hands as he noticeably surveys the burning city. “Odin’s unworthy, second son. I see before me but a sham of a king.”

 

“And I see before _me_ two dead men,” Loki answers smoothly.

 

Dangerously.

 

“Change of plans, sorcerer,” Halvar says, addressing Jerrik. “Or rather, back to our original intention, yes? Here’s your true battle. Have your bout with this _pitiful_ excuse for a monarch.”

 

Jerrik walks forward, passing Halvar without a word.

 

“ _No_ ,” a different voice states frigidly, and in between Loki and the traitor, a boy reveals his presence. “Have your bout with _me_ , Father.”

 

\---

 

“You will hide because I have ordered it so!” Frigga hisses to Gudrun, taking the scabbard of her short sword from the servant’s hands and unsheathing it in a fluid motion. “You’re not to come out until I’ve deemed it safe, do you understand?”

 

“M’lady,” Gudrun says, round face going red and blotchy as her eyes fill up with tears. “M’lady, _please_.”

 

The room shakes once more, the explosion close enough to rattle the windows. Frigga fixes her servant with a stern look, her gray glare leaving no room for disobedience. “Now, Gudrun.”

 

The woman dips her head and rushes deeper into the Allfather’s chambers as Frigga positions herself between her husband and the door.

 

She senses the chill in the air, a tangible danger that makes her shudder. There is evil in Asgard’s marble halls, and it grows ever closer.

 

She flinches at the sudden pounding on the chamber door, although her eyes widen at the familiar voice.

 

“My lady?! Are you within?”

 

It is Captain Eira, of the palace guard. A dread fills the Allmother, one she cannot explain. Frigga holds out a hand towards the door, to either open it by magic or a physical means, it matters not. “Be wary, captain! Enter with haste, I beg of you!”

 

But before the lock can turn, before the Allmother can do anything more than speak, there is an awful noise from the other side. A spattering, a gurgle, and the sound of a body falling to the white, marble floor.

 

And Frigga watches, her mouth dry, as frost slowly laces across the polished, wooden door.


	32. When Kings Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got pretty long - sorry guys!

“Come, my lady, this way,” the guard, Fiske, says in a hushed tone, beckoning the princess and her company towards a side door.

 

The party of three – Runa, her servant, and her father’s man, Kirby – walks quickly after the guard, robes wrapped tightly over their night clothes. Fiske had insisted there was no time to change into proper attire – he had to get them to safety at once.

 

Princess Runa’s handmaid, Gyda, has yet to quit sobbing, and it’s making Fiske nervous. He can hear the sounds of battle echoing through the halls, securing his suspicions that enemies are forcing their way into the palace – through magical wards and physical doors alike. Fiske will soon join the other guards in defending the building and its people, just as soon as he completes his task.

 

King Loki had instructed him to escort the princess to the siege rooms, and he intends to do so at any cost. But Gyda’s fearful wails are growing louder in tandem with her panic, and Fiske fears they will all be discovered.

 

“Hush, now, Gyda,” Kirby says calmly, although his neck and shoulders are full of tension.

 

“We’ll be perfectly fine,” Runa soothes in what she hopes is a confident voice. “Fiske here knows what he’s doing. We must keep moving.”

 

Before Fiske can vehemently agree with this statement, a crash resounds from somewhere nearby. There is a particularly loud, bloodcurdling scream that reverberates from near the palace’s entrance, and a chill settles in the air.

 

Fiske is at once taken back to Prince Thor’s intended coronation, and it is more than the sudden cold that makes him shudder.

 

“Through this door!” the guard hisses, reaching out and taking the princess by the hand in his urgency. “Stay silent, and be quick on your feet!”

 

“Unhand her at once!” Kirby whispers angrily, but Fiske pays the man no mind.

 

He must hurry. He has to defend the palace, stand alongside his brethren in battle. But he has a mission to complete first, and he thanks the Nine that the stairs to the siege rooms are close. Gyda holds onto the back of Runa’s dress, clinging to the fabric as the pair sprint forward after the guard. Kirby brings up the rear of the party, glancing over his shoulder every other second.

 

The man prays the eastern king will send reinforcements once he hears of Asgard’s plight. Surely, at the very least, King Garth will dispatch a group of soldiers to retrieve his daughter. It could not come soon enough. Kirby wishes to be rid of Asgard, to never be forced to return to this dangerous city.

 

He shudders as the ground once more shakes under his feet. _Rid of Asgard, yes. Preferably_ **_alive_** , he thinks grimly.

 

\---

 

King Laufey walks with purpose through the carnage as his soldiers clear a path for him. Asgardians do not fall easily, especially those of the palace guard, but the Jotnar have surprise and chaos on their side. Servants and guests either flee the room or stand frozen in fear as the guards do their best to beat the Frost Giants back.

 

Was Laufey not driven by a single purpose, he might have lingered longer to watch the Asgardians die. Instead, his ruby gaze latches onto a panicked servant, who returns his look with wide eyes. He strides towards her, and she backs away only to feel her shoulders hit the palace wall.

 

“The _Allfather_ ,” Laufey growls, disgust and hatred dripping from the word. “You will tell me where he slumbers.”

 

The woman stares up at the towering figure, words of any kind failing her. His voice is that of nightmares, the deep, sinister tone implying that this encounter will end in nothing short of death. She cannot feel her legs anymore, and she worries she will either lose control of her bladder or lose consciousness. Her teeth chatter at the icy feel of winter in the room.

 

Laufey frowns, his eyes narrowing. “I grow impatient with you, woman. If you value your life, you will answer me.”

 

And, not without a stutter, she does.

 

He briefly surveys her, teeth bared in a disappointed frown. “Distasteful,” he tells her as he begins to walk once more, “to sell out your king so easily.”

 

The woman slumps to the floor, and Laufey shakes his head as he leaves her. He knows his warriors will eventually find her. He will not waste his time, not when vengeance is so close.

 

The Jotun king pauses for a moment just before he exits the main hall. He forms a blade of ice as he considers venturing through a side door, one that hints at the Casket’s call. Many of the palace guards have formed a barrier in front of it, holding their ground against Frost Giants who press incessantly forward.

 

But ultimately, Laufey leaves that task to his soldiers. He will have Jotunheim’s relic back once Odin no longer draws breath. He beckons two of his giants to accompany him as he continues onwards, deeper into the palace. The two Jotnar take care of any who stand in their way, and soon the three find themselves almost out of earshot of the battle.

 

Lady Chaos is Jotunheim’s dear friend on this night.

 

The halls seem ghostly, this aspect greatly accentuated by the distant explosions and faraway screams of the dying. These sounds are music to Laufey’s ears, and he relishes in them with every step. He knows the Asgardians are in hiding, and he’s unperturbed. Once he ends Odin, his people will find them, drive them out like rats from their nests.

 

It is when they come upon a lone guard that it truly feels real to him; he’s practically salivating at the notion of what lies ahead, what he’s about to accomplish. The woman faces away from them, pounding on the door that the Jotun king is dying to walk through.

 

_So close._

_So._

_Close._

The Frost Giants make their move quickly.

Laufey hears the woman speaking, calling out to someone, but he has no interest in her words. One of his warriors rushes ahead, blade of ice slipping easily through the back of her neck, silencing her voice forever in a wet gurgle.

 

His other soldier moves up now, and extends a hand to the doorknob. The metal chills at once, and frost spreads quickly across the wood. He finds it locked, and with a glance at his fellow Jotun, the both kick in the door.

 

The Allmother reacts at once, casting an enchantment on her sword that makes flames roar to life across the blade. She pins the first giant with her magic, bringing her sword up just in time to stop the swing of the second.

 

Laufey steps into the room, crimson gaze at once falling hungrily upon Odin.

 

Frigga slices at the soldier nearest to her as she keeps the other back by conjuring more fire. Her gray eyes land on Laufey as he advances towards Odin’s bed, and the Allmother flexes her magic while simultaneously dodging a strike from one of the Jotnar. She must stop the Jotun king in his tracks. He will _not_ reach her husband.

 

But her eyes go wide as the two other Frost Giants rush her, flames licking at their skin. But they are unconcerned with the pain; they are aware of their purpose. They know why Laufey brought them.

 

They are unafraid to die for their king’s cause.

 

But so is the Allmother.

 

\---

 

It’s too quiet in your mind after the absence of Sigrid’s voice. Jane and Sif’s argument suddenly seems tremendously loud, the volume increasing due to the Warrior’s Three vehemently backing Sif and Erik chiming in to support Jane.

 

“Enough,” you mumble, stepping closer and earning a fierce leer from Hogun.

 

“This isn’t helping him!” Jane shouts, angry tears welling in her eyes.

 

“Mortal doctors are of no assistance, woman!” Sif exclaims desperately. “Would you have him suffer more? We’re wasting time.”

 

Thor mumbles something, his visible eye fluttering open for a moment. You put your hand out, fingers closing on Darcy’s shoulder. “Guys!” you say louder.

 

“Not now, warrior,” Sif insists heatedly, her lips pressed into a thin line as she stares at Jane.

 

“Hey, I-I think that man is coming back,” Darcy interjects, panic filling her eyes as she points towards the road.

 

The night is too dark for her to make out any details of the approaching figures, but Asgardian eyes (and yours as well) can easily see that this is not Thor’s assailant returning. The Warriors Three draw their weapons once more while you look on warily.

 

“I recognize their get-up,” you state. “Those are agents.”

 

“Agents?” Volstagg questions, glancing over at you.

 

“S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Erik murmurs.

 

“We don’t have time for this,” you growl, glaring as the party reaches your group.

 

Phil Coulson and his men stand a respectable distance away, although the other agents flanking his group keep their guns at the ready.

 

Coulson clears his throat. “Good to see you all intact... for the most part. I have a medical team on the way.”

 

“Hello again, Coulson,” Erik says into the tense silence.

 

Phil meets his gaze. “Erik. I see we have some new faces among us. I… know this isn’t exactly an opportune time, so I’ll cut to the chase. Where’s the man in the coat? We have reports of him getting away.”

 

“Gone,” Erik confirms. “It seemed like… well…. The crazy bastard started talking to himself, and then just… walked away.”

 

“Hmm. Well, he won’t get far if we have anything to do about it,” Phil replies, making a motion with his hand.

 

Two of his agents swiftly move to the remaining beast carcass, as if to stake a claim to it. You think they needn’t have bothered. No one present wants a trophy to remember this night.

 

“How far away is the medical team?” Jane asks in a strained voice, and Thor lets out a low moan.

 

“Shouldn’t be too long, now,” Phil replies, looking from a distance at the wounded man. He meets the curious gazes of the Warriors Three, and does his best to smile. “Phil Coulson, by the way.”

 

Fandral opens his mouth to reply when Sif cuts him off. “Son of Coul, we do not intend to stay. We have only come to collect Thor and return home at once.”

 

Thor’s good eye flickers open for a moment, and his hands clench into fists again. Lightning flashes, closer than ever, illuminating the area for less than a second.

 

“Asgard is under attack,” you state bluntly into the short silence that follows. “Siggy told me so. We need to go _now_.”

 

“Asgard?” Phil questions.

 

“Under attack?” Volstagg repeats worriedly, ignoring the Midgardian. “Are you certain?”

 

“Asgard,” Thor mutters, opening his eye and staring up at the black clouds.

 

“Yes, I’m sure,” you snap, exhaustion and apprehension making you irritable.

 

“Then the fight isn’t over for us just yet,” Fandral says grimly. He sighs and shakes his head. “Such is the life of a warrior.”

 

“Heimdall!” Hogun calls out loudly, face turned towards the heavens.

 

The lack of a reply of any kind, Bifrost or otherwise, makes the grim man’s frown deepen.

 

“Thor!” Sif exclaims as the prince suddenly struggles to sit up. “No, stay still, my friend. You’re not well.”

 

“Asgard,” Thor says once more, and then grits his teeth as he holds out a hand. “Mjolnir.” Lightning strikes close by, thunder immediately following it as Thor bellows, “MJOLNIR!”

 

You’ve never seen so much lightning in your life, not even when facing battle at Thor’s side. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end at the sensation of tangible electricity in the air, and you register a whooshing sound among the deafening thunder.

 

“MOVE!” Sif screams, grabbing Jane’s arm and pulling her along as she leaps away from the Asgardian prince.

 

The group scatters, putting quick distance between everyone and Thor, who grimaces as he forces himself up from the ground.

 

Coulson’s mouth has dropped wide open, but he has enough sense to scurry backwards and shout out for his agents to hold their fire.

 

And then an object, a very _familiar_ object _,_ flies into the outstretched fingers of Thor Odinson. As his fist clenches around the handle of the war hammer Mjolnir, a single bolt of lightning strikes the weapon, blinding the group as thunder explodes from all around.

 

You realize you’re shaking as you look at Thor, standing upright, having reclaimed his title as the true god of thunder at last. His wound weeps blood from the red, soaked bandage, but with his Aesir form restored, he is no longer rendered helpless by the pain.

 

The Warriors Three are the first to recover, excitedly rushing forward and shouting exclamations. Sif releases Jane’s arm as she also draws closer to Thor. The Midgardians seem a mixture of frightened, thankful, and awed.

 

You cast a side look at Coulson, who calmly takes in everything playing out before him. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he says under his breath.

 

“You say Asgard is in danger, warrior?” Thor asks, turning to you and wincing.

 

You look to him, grimacing at his injury. “I don’t think you’re fit to fight, Thor.”

 

“Nonsense,” he rebuffs. “I have a duty to fulfill. Asgard needs me.” He pauses and looks around at his companions, at you. “Asgard needs _us_.”

 

“Call for Heimdall, Thor,” Hogun tells him. “He will answer you now, assuredly.”

 

Coulson’s men move to raise their weapons, but Phil once again holds out his hand to stop them. “No more blood tonight, men.”

 

“Please,” Darcy mutters, and you note there’s not a hint of sarcasm to be heard.

 

“A moment, friends,” Thor murmurs, looking over at the three mortals who watch the proceedings worriedly. He walks closer to stand before them, swaying slightly on his feet. “Jane. Erik. Darcy. Thank you for your hospitality. You have been most gracious hosts… and even better friends. I have no way to repay that kindness.”

 

“There’s always more dishes for you to wash,” Darcy pipes up weakly. “You know, if you ever want to check in, or whatever.”

 

“Perhaps I’ll have to,” Thor says, holding his hand out to the intern. “Farewell, Darcy.”

 

Darcy takes his hand to shake, but instead blushes as Thor kisses her knuckles. He then moves to Erik, who grins sheepishly. “I won’t have you kissing my hand, now.”

 

“Hardly,” Thor says, flashing a quick smile. “Your knuckles aren’t near as fair, good man.”

 

Erik lets out a chuckle as he offers Thor his hand. The prince tries to take it, but his altered depth perception has him grasping at air for a second before he finds his target. The smile on his face fades at the reminder of his ordeal, although he attempts to reinstate his upbeat attitude as he moves to stand before Jane.

 

“Does it hurt?” she asks quietly.

 

“Not too badly,” Thor lies. “It will… take some getting used to, however.”

 

“And you… you have to go save your home now,” she says, looking up at him.

 

“Aye, I do,” he replies, nodding.

 

“Promise to stay safe, at least,” she murmurs.

 

Instead of answering, the Asgardian prince pulls her into his arms and kisses her.

 

Fandral and Volstagg whoop in delight as you roll your eyes.

 

“Thor, we must go,” Hogun states in exasperation.

 

“A man has needs, Hogun,” Fandral says, grinning. “Let him be for a moment. He’s wounded, for fate’s sake.”

 

Thor breaks his farewell kiss, leaving the astrophysicist breathless. “I promise to return, Lady Jane.”

 

You groan and shake your head, irritation spiking and apprehension rapidly rising. “I’m going to go ahead and go. I have enough energy to get myself to Asgard, and it’ll be better if I don’t go through the Bifrost. I’m already pretty tapped, and that thing really kicks my ass.”

 

“I will call for Heimdall,” Thor says, walking back over towards his companions. “You should meet us in the observatory, warrior.”

 

“Fine,” you concede, turning towards the three humans you’ve spent quite a lot of time with recently. “Thanks, you guys. Hope you got a lot of good data.”

 

“We… uh….” Jane tries to answer, her eyes narrowing as she looks over at Coulson.

 

“It’s fine, Ms. Foster,” Phil says in an easy tone. “In actuality, I’m happy to inform you that S.H.I.E.L.D. would like to work _with_ you. Fully funded. We won’t be commandeering your new data.”

 

“And my old data?” Jane asks heatedly, finding her words. “What about my stuff?”

 

“Your belongings will be returned,” Phil replies.

 

“Well, cool,” you butt in. “Congrats, and all that. Stay safe.”

 

You salute the group, and vanish into the shadows.

 

“Eager,” Hogun grunts, glaring at the place you’d once been. “I don’t trust it. Who’s to say she hasn’t told Loki to trap all of us here?"

 

“She would not,” Thor retorts, frowning at his friend. “I trust her wholeheartedly. This journey has proven us friends. The woman waited up night and day to keep me safe.”

 

“Regardless, we should go, Thor,” Sif cuts in.

 

“Heimdall!” Thor calls.

 

“Now, wait a moment,” Phil says, stepping forward. “We have questions we –”

 

“HEIMDALL!” the prince bellows, cutting Coulson off.

 

And Hogun’s is not the only grim face as the group realizes there is still no answer.

 

\---

 

The Rainbow Bridge shines in the darkness, light radiating up from its glowing path. But abnormal flashes can be seen from afar on this night, bright flares of power colliding with forces strong enough to shift the air.

 

Sigrid sees these displays from the windows along the servants’ pathways, and it makes her take her bottom lip between her teeth. She knows Asmund’s magic. She knows her beloved fights on the bridge, and she is afraid to be witness to the outcome of such a battle.

 

But Sigrid has faith in Asmund. He is strong of mind and magic, putting his all into his studies until he has come out the other side a man. He will have met battle eventually, and she knows this. All she can do is feed him her love and support from afar.

 

The girl hurries down the stairs, her footsteps seeming dangerously loud in her ears. She makes her strides lighter as she nears the boisterous chaos of the main entry to the palace.

 

Sigrid recognizes the chill in the air and the sounds of the skirmish. There is death walking the halls, parading in the streets. Death is everywhere, and her beloved faces it head on while she rushes to the siege rooms.

 

And….

 

“Brenna.”

 

The name escapes her lips again, the sound lost in the painful howls of the next room over. Sigrid’s feet come to a stop once more as she looks at the split in the narrow hallway.

 

The left will take her towards the siege rooms, past the carnage in the main hall and down the stairs to supposed safety.

 

And the right.

 

The right will take her deeper into the palace, out towards the kitchens. Towards the receiving doors, where deliveries are made.

 

Where she can slip out of the castle and into the night.

 

Back to town.

 

Back to Asmund’s mother.

 

\---

 

Jerrik feels as if his heart is rending itself in two. He casts a shield in front of him, his son’s golden magic glancing off and flooding up and over the invisible barrier.

 

“Asmund, why face me as an enemy?” Jerrik calls, raising the scepter in order to strengthen his shield. “Am I not your father?”

 

“You’re a _traitor_!” the boy shouts, twisting his arcana to slam at the barrier with more force. “To Asgard! To _me_!”

 

“I did what I thought best, my boy!” Jerrik answers loudly, stepping closer as he fights the push of Asmund’s spells. “I have only ever wanted to be stronger, to make a better life for my family!”

 

“Liar!” Asmund shouts, outraged. “You are a foolish, selfish man! Look at what you’ve become!”

 

“I have become _powerful_!” Jerrik roars, waving the scepter and creating a powerful blast that throws his son backwards off his feet. “You’re just a boy! You cannot understand. You’ve backed the wrong horse, Asmund. You would stand by the wicked Loki rather than your own blood?”

 

Asmund struggles to his feet, although the energy coming from the scepter works to keep him on the ground as Jerrik steps closer. “I have made my life my own,” Asmund states, panting with exertion as he rises. “I’ve not called myself ‘Jerrikson’ since I discovered what you had done.”

 

“But what a team we could be,” Jerrik says, ignoring the hurtful statement. “Look at how you’ve grown, how _strong_ you are now. I’m so proud of you, Asmund.”

 

“Save your false kindness!” Asmund insists, tears filling his eyes as he sends an explosion of light towards his father. “You do not fool me.”

 

Jerrik appears to sadden, as if he has been defeated in some way. “Don’t make me do it, son. Join me. Please.”

 

“Silence!” Asmund shouts, forming his next spell between his fingers.

 

The end of Jerrik’s scepter begins to glow, the power swirling about the bladed tip as the man steps forwards. Asmund’s blue eyes take in the magic artifact, his father’s calm demeanor.

 

The boy takes a few steps back, growing dangerously close to the battle Halvar and Loki wage behind him. “Stay back. I’ll-I’ll kill you if I have to.”

 

“Patricide does not suit you, Asmund,” Jerrik states, continuing his long strides. “You can be so much more. I see it now. I understand _all_. My eyes are open, truly open. And I am not afraid.”

 

But Asmund is, and it makes him wary. He senses danger, more so than ever before. The young man unleashes his harnessed arcana, which collides with Jerrik’s scepter in an eruption of golden and blue light.

 

Asmund draws his dagger as his father grows closer, his gaze drawn again to the scepter, and only one thought sounds loudly within his mind.

 

 _I can’t_ _let it touch me._

_\---_

 

Laufey finds himself standing before the _Allfather_ , the Ruler of the Nine Realms. Odin. And the old man slumbers, soft covers nestled near his sides, peaceful in appearance as he rests in the Sleep. And to the King of Jotunheim, this moment feels surreal.

 

His warriors keep Odin’s queen busy, and so Laufey takes his time surveying the man that had torn his world apart. Left his people, his kingdom, in shambles. Remnants of their former, grand selves.

 

This wrong will soon be righted.

 

Frigga’s breath comes quickly as she attempts to be free of the combat her opponents have fiercely locked her in. She barely has time to stave off one warrior before the other is upon her.

 

The two Jotnar have extensive burns from the sorceress queen, and still they fight on as if they feel no pain. Their passion, their adrenaline, overtakes any of the negative repercussions of battle.

 

She slashes at one of the warriors, opening a gash upon his skin as the armor of ice melts away. He backs off for a moment as the other surges forward, the light of battle in his fiery eyes. She uses this second to duplicate her form, temporarily causing her opponent to draw back.

 

The Allmother uses the force of her magic to push him further and pin him in place, although his companion cuts through her illusion and rushes her until she has lost her concentration.

 

She can see Laufey standing by her husband’s bedside, and it makes her panic. She cries out for assistance, praying someone from the hall will hear.

 

Instead, her servant Gudrun rushes from the other room, her round face pale with fear. At the noise, the closest Jotun turns towards the woman, who cannot help but let out a shriek.

 

“No!” Frigga shouts, and uses the distraction to stab through the Frost Giant’s chest.

 

She yells loudly when a searing pain spreads across her side, warm blood quickly covering the chill the icy weapon left behind.

 

The Allmother turns to face the remaining Jotun, who stands between her and Odin. She looks to his fallen companion, holds out a hand towards the dead giant, and simultaneously renders his body invisible as she mimics his form and makes it rise from the ground. The living Jotun stares at the raised creature with wide, panicked eyes.

 

Laufey has tuned out the noise of the background, unconcerned with the fate of Odin’s queen.

 

“It is said that you can still hear within your slumber, oh, mighty king,” the giant says, voice thrumming in his chest. “That you know what transpires around you. Tell me, do you hear your people dying? I do hope so. And I pray you hear me now, so that you may know your death was dealt by the hand of Laufey.”

 

He forms a blade as he raises his hands, ignoring the sound of a woman wailing, and prepares to plunge the ice straight into Odin’s foul heart.

 

Instead, there’s a sharp pain in his chest, one that quickly blossoms and spreads from the source. Blood rises in his throat, his heart struggling to beat around steel.

 

Fire. It is as if fire spreads throughout his chest, rushes through his veins. There’s a tug, a sword pulled from flesh, and then the sound of a blade whistling through the air.

 

The King of Jotunheim falls, his body colliding with the ground and his head rolling free of his neck. Frigga stands above the corpse, sword hilt held tight within her grasp.

 

“You can stop crying, Gudrun,” the Allmother says, breathing heavily as she surveys the dead king. “We must bar the door at once, lest more come.”

 

“M-M’lady,” Gudrun says through her tears, staring at the bed.

 

“I shan’t be leaving, so that’s not up for discussion,” Frigga states. “I refuse to abandon my husband.”

 

“Then I suppose I must convince you, my dear,” a hoarse voice replies.

 

Frigga’s sword hits the floor, clattering loudly as it collides with the marble. She spins around, finding tears of absolute, unabashed _relief_ flooding down her face almost at once.

 

“ _Odin_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the amazing comments, guys. Every time I get down about my writing, it's kind of refreshing to go back and see you all being so awesome and enthusiastic. Thanks for keeping me writing. <3
> 
> In other news! Welcome back, Space Dad!


	33. The Edge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, I'm so sorry. Long time to wait for an update. Bad Warrior!  
> We now return to your scheduled program of blood and action. :0

The dark is quiet, as it always is. It’s almost a relief to you, after the tension, the shouting, the booming thunder. The air is cool within this space, but not unpleasantly so. It soothes your wounds unlike any salve ever could. This place is your respite, although it’s never wise to linger.

 

You step from the silence of the darkness and into absolute chaos within the Gatekeeper’s observatory.

 

At once, you call your sword to your hand, eyes snapping to the nearest target. You must be cautious for this battle; if you overstep your limits at this point, you’re likely to pass out.

 

The Watcher faces off against at least eight foes, teeth bared in anger as his golden sword flashes through the air. A few bodies lie near the entrance to the observatory, as if the Watcher had began his defense there only to be pushed back by the force of his opponents.

 

Heimdall has put up a fierce fight, leaving blood spattered all over the pristine observatory. But he’s wounded, enemy blades periodically slipping in between the joints in his armor.

 

And over the sounds of metal on metal, he hears his name, from the lips of the god of thunder.

 

You silently make your move, darting towards the closest man in the group that surrounds the Watcher. Your sword erupts through the barbarian’s neck, causing shouts of confusion from his companions. Heimdall cuts a man down during the disturbance, successfully breaking free of his attackers.

 

He rushes forward, limping slightly, and you quickly make the connection – he’s making a break for the Bifrost’s controls.

 

But your foes have made this assumption as well.

 

“STOP HIM!” one of the soldiers calls out, and half hurry to comply while the rest attempt to ward you off.

 

You are very aware that you’re not at the top of your game, but after facing off against the impossibly fast Hunter, these soldiers seem incredibly slow. This does not make them easy targets, however. You’ve lost the element of surprise.

 

Heimdall cuts at a woman who approaches him, exerting extra force in order to knock her aside. A blade connects with his face, splitting open the skin on the bridge of his nose as he dodges another sword. He does not flinch.

 

The Watcher is your first priority. Getting Heimdall to the central mechanism. There’s too many people inside of the golden dome, too many bodies to trip over. You have a feeling this group of warriors was sent for this specific purpose; to subdue the Seer.

 

You leap up, feet hitting the curved observatory wall for less than a second as you use it to launch yourself over the heads of the soldiers in front of you. You drag your blade across a man’s shoulder as you pass, and when your boots touch the floor, you hear footsteps pounding after you.

 

Curses and exclamations bounce around the chamber, the clinking sound of armor louder than ever in your ears. You see Heimdall fending off the people in front of him, trying to stop them from closing rank between him and his goal.

 

You zip forward, sword plunging into a man’s side as you use all the force you can muster to send him (and yourself) careening into the others beside him. You land on top of them, blade wedged deeply in the soldier’s guts. His chest heaves rapidly, fighting death, his body jostled by the other warriors that had fallen beneath him.

 

Heimdall limps faster, warm blood oozing down the inside of his armor. He cannot focus on the pain, on the sound of the battle waging to his left. He struggles to the Bifrost’s activation panel, gripping it tightly to steady himself.

 

There’s a sound from directly behind him, and he turns to fend against his attacker only to see you barrel into the enemy. You swiftly slash at the woman, keeping her busy and giving Heimdall the time he needs.

 

The Watcher raises his golden sword, the blade slicked red with blood, and plunges it down into the mechanism. The Bifrost roars to life, and the Gatekeeper is finally able to carry out his duty.

 

\---

 

“She’s betrayed us,” Hogun growls, glowering at the sky. “And why we expected any less, I have no idea. She’s nothing more than an ally of the trickster.”

 

“And I his brother,” Thor cuts in. “Does this make me any less trustworthy in your eyes?”

 

Hogun shoots Thor a look, his gaze exasperated. “You know the answer to that, Thor. Of course not.”

 

“Perhaps Heimdall is caught in battle, Hogun,” Sif reasons, stepping closer.

 

“I shudder to think, if that’s the case,” Fandral adds, frowning at the dark clouds above their heads.

 

“Have we any other way back?” Volstagg asks. “Could the warrior transport us once she discovers our predicament? Surely she will return when we do not arrive at the observatory.”

 

“To use the warrior’s power would be an unwise choice,” Thor mumbles. “I have seen glimpses of the paths she takes in darkness, although I have not traversed them myself. It is a struggle for her to keep the dark at bay.”

 

“You speak in riddles,” Hogun hisses angrily. “Simply say that she would choose not to help us.”

 

“Well, it looks like you have some extra time on your hands, huh?” Phil Coulson interjects, a pleasant expression on his face. “Perhaps you’d like to fill us in on what’s happening in the meantime?”

 

“Not now, mortal,” Thor dismisses, shaking his head and noticeably adjusting his footing.

 

“Thor, are you alright?” Jane asks nervously.

 

Thor turns to her, his lips parting to give a reply, when the Warriors Three and their prince are abruptly swallowed in light.

 

The Midgardians shield their eyes, the roar of the Bifrost loud in their ears. It’s a foreign, almost frightening event that leaves them in awe.

 

“Bifrost,” Jane murmurs to herself, peering at the phenomenon through her fingers.

 

And then, in an instant, all is silent.

 

Phil sighs and rubs his eyes as the residual light fades, the quiet ambiance of the night returning and soothing his ears. “Damn,” he says, although a smile plays on his lips as he shakes his head. He looks up as he hears S.H.I.E.L.D.’s vehicles approaching from the distance, and then turns to his men. “Well… let’s get this settled.”

 

The agents begin to bustle around the site, preparing for the others to arrive. They successfully ignore the two scientists and the intern, whose gazes are locked on the sky.

 

The black clouds have parted, the threat of the storm successfully passing in the absence of Thor’s power. The mortals stare at the heavens, unbothered by the agents around them. The Bifrost had punched a hole through the sky, creating a gap in the clouds. And through the rift, they can see the stars.

 

\---

 

Thor’s knees buckle as his feet touch down in the observatory. Sif kneels by his side at once, strong grip steadying his shoulder.

 

“By the Norns!” Volstagg exclaims at the sight of the bloody dome, drawing his battle axe and readying for a fight.

 

“Thor!” Fandral says, raising his sword as he looks over his shoulder at the prince. “Are you alright?”

 

“I need but a moment,” Thor grinds out from behind clenched teeth. He holds a palm to his wounded eye, putting pressure on the wound. “Assist them!”

 

The Warriors Three throw themselves into the battle, Sif lingering nearby to defend the prince.

 

With the added help, the fight turns, and then abruptly ends. Hogun bashes the last soldier, his mace knocking the man’s helmet free of his head as the blow kills him.

 

You tug your sword from a woman’s chest, grimacing at the Asgardians. “Thanks, guys.”

 

“I’m fine, Sif,” you hear Thor say, and you look over to see the prince getting to his feet. Blood seeps from under his bandaged eye, but he still waves the concerned warrior away. “I just… needed to get my bearings.”

 

“Thor,” Heimdall says, a warmth to his voice as he clings to the Bifrost’s panel. “It is good to see you back.”

 

“It is good to be back,” Thor answers, and then glances around the observatory. “Although, I must say, I wish the circumstances were more ideal. Tell us, Watcher, where is our assistance needed?”

 

The warmth is lost from Heimdall’s voice as he replies. “Everywhere.”

 

“You need a healer, Gatekeeper,” Sif speaks up. “As do you, Thor.”

 

“The healers are most busy, Lady Sif,” Heimdall answers, bright eyes flickering over towards the burning city.

 

The sounds of battle range from just outside the golden dome to far in the distance. The situation is grim, and you feel your fingers tighten on the handle of your sword. “Where’s…?”

 

You falter, unable to form the words.

 

“Here is what I can tell you, warriors,” Heimdall states, wincing as he accidentally puts weight on his bad leg. “We do not have much time, so listen carefully. Odin has awakened, but he is weak. Queen Frigga guards him within his chambers. Laufey was slain by her hand, although his warriors do not yet know. They grow close to the Casket of Ancient Winters. The Allmother needs assistance, as well as the soldiers that stand in the path of the Jotnar.”

 

“My father is awake?” Thor questions, relief slowly spreading across his face.

 

Heimdall ignores him. “Our troops attempt to push the enemy from our city, our sorcerers have split. Half to fight, half to quench the flames. Our healers are stretched thin. This is a dire time for our city, and we must act fast.”

 

Sif and the Warriors Three look to Thor at once for orders. The prince meets their gazes for a moment before realizing what it is that is asked of him. “Right. Hogun, Fandral, Volstagg. Find Obasi and assist our troops. Sif, you’ll help my mother.” Thor’s good eye meets your gaze. “You and I will protect the Casket.” Finally, he turns to the Gatekeeper. “Good Heimdall, do you need someone to accompany you?”

 

“Leave me be, Thor. I will defend my post.”

 

The prince dips his head. “As you wish.”

 

“Let’s go,” you hiss, the adrenaline in your veins making you feel uneasy as you stand still.

 

The party rushes from the observatory, down the rainbow bridge. Almost instantly, you spot a battle up ahead that makes your blood run cold.

 

“Thor!” Sif says from the side.

 

“I see them,” he answers grimly. “I’ll assist.”

 

“But the Casket!” Fandral says.

 

The company shifts their path to hug the right side of the bridge, needing to skirt past the battles taking place. Your pace quickens, and you find yourself matching step with the god of thunder. He looks over at you, and you know that whether he’ll admit to it or not, he’s not well.

 

“I’ve got it,” you tell him, challenging his gaze. “Head for the palace, alright?”

 

_Nearer to the nurses_ , you think. If Thor falls out during the battle, he needs to be close to safety.

 

The prince stares back at you, fresh blood from his savaged eye glistening on his cheek.

 

\---

 

Loki cannot break the ward that protects the barbarian king. Gungnir’s blasts of power always strike true, and yet no damage is done. Halvar’s sword handle is studded with glowing, orange jewels, and although he could be wrong, Loki guesses these have something to do with the barbarian’s invisible shield.

 

It is unnerving to face an opponent that magic cannot touch, and it forces him to take a more physical approach. However, the closer he is to the barbarian, the weaker he feels. It is as if Halvar is draining Loki of his strength, taking his power and magic with it.

 

It makes Loki slip up, makes him snarl as steel repeatedly bites at his skin. He attempts to conjure a double of himself to buy some time and back away from his opponent. But the illusion is weak, translucent, winking in and out of existence.

 

“What is this?” Loki shouts, baring his teeth as Halvar’s sword crashes into Gungnir.

 

He cannot recall a time he’s been more frustrated; he has yet to wound the barbarian, but his own blood has been spilled. The fight has dragged, longer than he deems necessary. This should have been a most simple battle.

 

Halvar does not reply, choosing instead to laugh in the sorcerer’s face. He pushes against Odin’s spear, and Loki almost loses his footing as he’s thrust backwards. Halvar moves to strike, the other man barely managing to dodge.

 

There’s movement from behind the barbarian, and Loki’s eyes automatically shoot to the new threat. The group sprints along the side of the bridge, as if to make their way past. He does not have long to look, however, as Halvar attacks once more, pushing him further towards the edge. Loki can feel the heel of his boot hit the bridge’s side.

 

“‘And another king falls,’” Halvar quotes, eyes blazing with hatred.

 

It’s a misplaced rage, he knows, but he cannot help it. The Ordinat are gone, and he will fell Asgard and its king in their place.

Loki regains his footing, squaring up against the barbarian, who raises his sword to strike again. At the last moment, Halvar turns, sword clanging loudly against your blade. He meets your surprised gaze.

 

“Heard you,” he says with a wide grin.

 

Energy projects out from his sword as he pushes against your weapon, and the force sends you skidding backwards on the rainbow bridge. You feel nausea creep into your stomach, weakness settle in your limbs. It’s familiar, and it makes you scowl.

 

Loki says your name, almost to himself, as he darts away from the bridge’s edge. One look at you is all he needs to realize that you shouldn’t be in this fight. You seem exhausted, dark circles under your eyes, hollows in your cheeks. Blood stains your skin, your clothing. It makes his stomach twinge with worry. He’s irritated; you’re a liability to him, a distraction that he cannot risk.

 

Loki steps between you and the advancing barbarian, Gungnir held out in front of him. “Be gone, warrior. Seek battle elsewhere.”

 

“Where’d you get the sword?”

 

Loki is confused by your question, but the words make Halvar pause, his grin stretching even wider than before. “Recognize it, do you?”

 

“It was one of the first powers they stole,” you say. “Don’t stay near him too long, Loki. It’s like… a suppressor.”

 

“I see,” Loki states, narrowing his eyes. “The edge?” he asks you nonchalantly.

 

“The edge,” you agree, hefting your sword and walking up to his side. “Speed is essential.”

 

“Obviously,” he scoffs.

 

Halvar laughs. “The both of you look ready to drop.”

 

Neither of you deign a response. You dart forward first, pushing through the suppressing energy and slashing at the barbarian. He blocks and dodges, only to find the point of Loki’s spear coming straight for him. Halvar fends him off expertly, retaliating at once. Loki falls back as you rush around his side, easily meeting the blow.

 

You swipe at Halvar, who attempts to get inside your guard. He aims for your ribs, and you leap backwards at the sharp pain. Loki shoots forward, blocking blow after blow to give you a chance to recover. You dart back in from Loki’s left, using the temporary distraction to bring your sword down as you kick at Halvar’s thigh.

 

He manages to pull away, although your boot meets his leg and successfully knocks him back. Before he can recover, Loki moves up, taking your place.

 

Halvar is backing up under the onslaught, growing closer to the edge of the bridge without realizing it as he faces his opponents.

 

It feels natural to fight with Loki; the both of you have done this many times before. But still, things are different now. Your mind is silent of his thoughts, replaced by the sound of blood rushing in your ears. And the power of Halvar’s sword is more than taking its toll. You’re already tired, and the feeling of weakness leaves you struggling. But you’ve had practice against weapons such as this.

 

Loki has not.

 

He lingers too long, and Halvar’s sword flashes in the light of the bridge as it plunges towards Loki’s side. You step in quickly, bringing up your blade and parrying the strike. Loki swings Gungnir around as Halvar pulls a small knife from his belt and sinks it right under your ribs.

 

Loki’s eyes widen as you go down, and Halvar takes a wound in the shoulder to drop the knife and grab your hair, dragging you up in front of him. “It bothers you, I see,” he pants, hot breath loud in your ear.

 

“Release her,” Loki says, voice low and dangerous.

 

You struggle, doing your best not to panic. Your skin crawls at the feeling of the Ordinat’s power, wrapping around you like invisible tendrils. You try to form a dagger in your palm, but the suppression from Halvar’s sword makes your attempt fall apart before it is created. You’re too close for too long.

 

“F-Fuck you,” you wheeze, pushing what energy you have left into your legs.

 

You force him a couple more steps back towards the edge of the bridge. Loki rushes forward as Halvar brings his sword up to your throat.

 

“No,” Loki hisses, long fingers outstretched.

 

His hand closes around the blade, the steel slicing through his skin and grating against bone. Loki forces the sword back, stabbing Gungnir over your shoulder and into Halvar’s chest. The barbarian shouts angrily, releasing your hair in order to free up his other hand.

 

“Move!” Loki orders.

 

You do your best to comply, your knees locking and sending you to the ground in the process. You inhale sharply through your teeth, your eyelids heavy.

 

_Not now_ , you tell yourself. _Do **not** pass out now._

 Halvar swings at the Asgardian, an angry shout tearing from his throat. He aims for Loki’s neck, intending to end this charade of a battle.

 

Loki meets the man’s intense gaze with an equally enraged snarl. He drops Gungnir and puts up both of his hands, fingers spread wide, blood rushing down his palm and forearm. “ _Enough!_ ”

 

Loki forces every bit of power he can summon into a final, forceful blast. It is nowhere near the strength he can normally muster, but it is enough to stagger the barbarian.

 

_What a ridiculous fool_ , Halvar thinks as he stumbles. _Jerrik shields me, the Asgardian knows that magic cannot touch me._

 

He muses over this as he takes a final step back, and his foot meets nothing but air.

 

Loki apathetically watches Halvar tumble out of sight, and he steps up to the edge, peering over to see the man fall. However, there is no sign of the barbarian king.

 

He frowns and turns to where you lie, the deep wound in his palm throbbing painfully. He is disturbed to find you have not moved, the dimmest of glows emitting from the bridge beneath you. “Warrior?” You do not stir, and he walks quickly to you, kneeling at your side. He relaxes slightly at the small rise and fall of your chest. “Are you alright?”

 

Your eyes open and you blink, your hand coming up to grab his arm. “Is he dead?”

 

“Yes.”

 

You narrow your eyes. “You saw him die?”

 

“I sent him over the edge,” Loki replies, his tone oddly soothing. He puts his unscathed hand on your wound, pressing. “I take it the suppressant effect will require time to wear off.”

 

“Yep,” you say, popping the ‘p’. “Slows… bodies from healing. Should be okay in a bit.”

 

“You need the infirmary,” Loki tells you, as if he’s scolding a child. “Where is your Star Healer? There was a group with you, I recall.”

 

“She’s not here,” you reply gruffly, and struggle to sit up. “And we don’t have time. There’s still fighting at the palace.”

 

“Stay still, fool,” Loki orders, glaring at you. “You look like death. Wait until I have the magic to repair you.”

 

You return his glare, but aren’t strong enough to push back against his hand. You catch sight of his other arm, his bracer streaked with blood. “Your hand. Heal that up first.”

 

“It’s nothing of consequence,” he tells you smoothly.

 

“You’re a liar,” you respond.

 

“Of course.”

 

You’re close to him. Closer than you have been in a while, your torso leaned against his shoulder. It reminds you of how tired you are, how tired you’ve _been_. And it’s not over yet. There’s always more.

 

“Your little half-pint is alive,” Loki notes, nodding over to your left. “I must say, I’m surprised.”

 

“Half-pint?” you echo, turning.

 

You feel your eyebrows furrow as you spot Asmund, who kneels solemnly on the rainbow bridge with his head bowed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What happened to our little half-pint??! TT-TT
> 
> UPDATE: MORE FANART FROM AURIA223 AHHHHH I AM UNWORTHY  
> 


	34. Fire, Flames, Giants, and Men

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's wrap up this action. <3

As Sigrid rushes frantically through the streets of Asgard, past its burning buildings, she begins to think her mission may be futile after all. The flames stretch high into the sky, orange seemingly licking at the inky darkness of the night. The light, normally so welcoming, sets her stomach churning. The air is thick, a foul, acrid stench burning in her nose. The smoke irritates Sigrid’s throat, her lungs rebelling in coughing fits as she runs.

 

This broken city, once so familiar, seems foreign to her as she races her fears through the destruction.

 

She counts herself lucky that this part of town seems to be empty; anyone the enemy left alive was smart enough to flee and leave the dead behind. They probably struck out for the palace, only to be met with Frost Giants and blood. She hopes they found a way inside, to the siege rooms, the healers.

 

No, not hopes… _prays_. Sigrid prays Asgard’s soldiers and sorcerers have been a strong enough force to push the invaders back, strong enough to keep them from returning.

 

A chant sounds within her mind, a mantra she repeats to the rhythm of her feet hitting the ground.

 

_No fire, no flames, no giants, no men. No fire, no flames, no giants, no men…._

_The fates have been merciful so far_ , she reasons with herself.

 

Sigrid had successfully escaped the chaos of the palace, willingly pushed forward towards the distant sounds of a much larger battle. Her terrified gaze sweeps repeatedly over her surroundings, sure that she will be slain before reaching her goal. But the path towards Brenna’s home has been silent so far, the war raging on and away from the area. Perhaps her luck will hold.

 

But with a sinking feeling, Sigrid realizes she isn’t out of the warpath yet. The sounds of soldiers clashing grows louder as she nears the house – her home. She sticks to the shadows where she can, flinching away from the heat and light of the roaring fires.

 

Loud footsteps echo from up ahead, gruff voices shouting orders. Sigrid ducks around the edge of a building, her heart pounding in her ears and making her head hurt. The men (friend or foe, she cannot tell) run by without catching sight of her, and she stares wide-eyed at their backs.

 

Sigrid moves at once, her hands and knees quaking so much that she stumbles at first.

 

_No fire, no flames, no giants, no men._

The girl rounds the corner, her surroundings growing more familiar as she approaches her goal.

 

_Be safe, Brenna. Please. For Asmund._

The final turn is approaching quickly, and Sigrid’s wild eyes search for signs of danger as she runs. Images of the many ways she could be killed flash before her eyes, but she pushes them aside and does her best to focus.

 

_No fire, no flames, no giants…._

The girl takes the last corner, and all of the breath leaves her lungs.

 

The house isn’t quite burning, not yet, but the neighboring building has flames that stretch towards the roof, the walls. Smoke pours from the windows of Brenna’s house, letting Sigrid know something inside is alight.

 

She flies towards the door, burning her hand on the heated doorknob and letting out a cry of pain. She forces herself to push forward, coughing immediately upon entering the house.

 

“B-Brenna!”

 

The crackling sound of the fire is frighteningly loud, but over the noise Sigrid thinks she hears a response. She pulls her dress collar up over her mouth and nose, ducking low to avoid the smoke.

 

“Jerrik!”

 

Sigrid’s heart sinks at the name. It sounds as if Brenna is spiraling again, lost in a world where her husband had never left.

 

“Brenna?” Sigrid calls, attempting to locate the woman.

 

“Oh, thank the Norns!”

 

Sigrid makes her way to Brenna’s quarters, her eyes watering from the heat. The room is close to the neighboring house, the one that’s quickly spreading its fire. “Brenna, come out!”

 

“I can’t, Sigrid, I’m hiding! Jerrik should be here soon to save me!”

 

There’s fear in her voice, which makes Sigrid’s heart hurt. “He sent me!” she lies. “He sent me to get you! Hurry!” Brenna dissolves into a coughing fit, but Sigrid is relieved when she hears the woman’s stumbling footsteps. “That’s right, Brenna, this way! Keep your head low!”

 

The woman staggers into view, dark blue eyes wide, and Sigrid immediately takes her shoulders to lead her out. The pair make it outside, lungs burning, and while Sigrid attempts to push on at once, Brenna turns back. She stares at the flaming roof, the wall that’s now engulfed in fire.

 

“He built me this house,” she chokes out, tears flowing down her face. “He built it.”

 

“Come on, Brenna,” Sigrid urges gently. “We must go to the siege rooms.”

 

It takes a few incessant pulls to get the woman to tear her gaze away. Sigrid does her best to keep them out of sight, plotting the quickest way back to the palace. She’ll take Brenna through the kitchens, to the servants’ passages, and then the two will finally be safe within the palace’s belly.

 

“Jerrik!”

 

Sigrid visibly jumps at the sound, and she turns her alarmed gaze on Asmund’s mother. “Stay quiet, Brenna, _please_!”

 

“He’s come back for me!” the woman babbles, looking happily to their left.

 

Sigrid follows her gaze and feels her heart practically stop. A man walks towards them, and he is most certainly not Jerrik. There is hate in his eyes, a sword in his hand. This is a soldier, searching for survivors. A man who has no qualms, who wouldn’t think twice before killing two women.

 

All is fair in war.

 

“Brenna, run!” Sigrid hisses, pulling on the woman’s arm. “We must run!”

 

“But why would we do that?” Brenna questions, genuinely puzzled.

 

“That’s _not_ Jerrik!” Sigrid wails, tugging harder. “ _Please_!”

 

The man is close now, too close, within range to strike. It’s as he raises his sword that Brenna realizes she does not know this warrior. Instead of fleeing, she cowers.

 

Sigrid doesn’t think. In a moment of panic, she steps towards the man, her hands raised, her eyes begging him to stop. But the hate she sees, the war in his glare, tells her all she needs to know.

 

His sword glints in the firelight as he brings it down, seconds away from cleaving the girl’s head from her shoulders.

 

And then light, white light, flashes in between the warrior and the women. The magic is forceful; it sends him careening backwards, blade flying from his hand when he lands, head cracking against the cobbled street.

 

Sigrid’s fingertips tingle and her legs shake. She’s worried she’ll fall over. When she focuses, she can hear Brenna, can feel the woman’s hand on her shoulder.

 

“He saved us! He saved us, Sigrid! I knew he’d return!”

 

The girl blinks, her hands trembling, and she nods. “Of course, Brenna. You were right all along. Let’s.... Let’s go.”

 

\---

 

Obasi’s troops have been working hard, pushing their enemies back and out of the city. He has sent the men he can afford to defend the civilians, although he feels as if he isn’t doing enough. He isn’t used to stakes this high, the hint of defeat lingering in the backs of everyone’s minds.

 

The proud city of Asgard needs assistance.

 

The captain wonders why Loki’s sorcerers have yet to join them. They are to battle back the attacks of the foreign magic-users, and once they prevail, quench the flames that eat at the city. Perhaps the foreigners were more formidable than they had anticipated.

 

Obasi is therefore thoroughly relieved when he hears the shouts of three very familiar warriors. “Thank the Nine,” he mutters, unable to muster a rightful glare their way.

 

At this moment, it does not matter to him where they have been, so long as they fight with all that they have.

 

The battle wages, the captain carving up enemies from horseback as he keeps his men moving forward. The sight of the Warriors Three is good for morale, a loud roar rising from the mass of people around him. Obasi lashes out with a smile now, his spear deftly sinking into his opponent’s shoulder.

 

“More troops!” a soldier calls out, riding up to Obasi on his warhorse.

 

The man’s tone bridges on the edge of fear, quickly shifting towards panic, and the captain follows his gaze. It’s not a massive amount of soldiers, but it’s enough to cause trouble. Asgard teeters on the edge of victory, and they cannot afford to have their enemies reinforced now.

 

But as the strangers draw closer, Obasi’s heart swells with renewed hope. He has been in arms long enough to recognize the colors, the sigils on their armor. “Eastern aid!” he bellows just as the eastern warriors fall upon the surprised adversaries.

 

Their foes are wavering, fairly certain now that their minds were filled with false promises of conquest. They continue to fight, but each man and woman find themselves taking cover, backing away, retreating without being ordered to do so. The tide has shifted, and they are moments away from breaking.

 

Things are looking bleak for Halvar’s forces.

 

And then the Frost Giants come. They sprint towards the Asgardians from behind, racing away from the golden palace and into battle. War cries echo through the streets as the invaders cheer for their peculiar allies. Perhaps there is still a chance!

 

And then the Jotnar are upon the Asgardians.

 

And then they are past the Asgardians.

 

The battle cries cease, replaced with confused shouts and outraged exclamations. The giants dart through the troops of enemies and allies alike, making quickly for the edge of the city.

 

The confusion is short lived.

 

Odin Allfather pursues his foes, a thunderous expression upon his face. Driving the last of the pests from his palace is not enough; he will run the intruders to the border. Thor Odinson follows at his side, blood cascading down the left side of his face, bandage lost somewhere in the fight. The pair looks fierce, formidable despite their weaknesses, driven by passion and honor.

 

And the Asgardians surge forward, shouting out a victory they have not yet earned but are sure to obtain. Their king has risen, their lost prince has returned, and once more they feel truly invincible.

 

\---

 

Asmund sees when your group passes across the rainbow bridge, but he has no time to spare a lasting glance. The boy jerks backwards, the point of the golden scepter almost brushing against his robes. It had passed straight through his protective shield, and this fact makes him even more cautious.

 

“I’m told it doesn’t take long, my boy!” Jerrik calls, his eyes flashing a terrible blue. “No pain!”

 

“Stay back!” Asmund growls, hurling a transformative spell towards his father.

 

Jerrik blocks the blow with his weapon, which remains wholly untransformed. “Why do you fear success?” he goads. “I have done things, Asmund, summoned monsters, performed arcana you could never hope to attain within that _pathetic_ guild. Don’t you _see_? Your mother, my dear Brenna, she’ll never have to work another day of her life! How can you not _understand_?”

 

“Don’t speak of her!” Asmund hisses, grip tightening on his dagger as he backs away. His eyes are trained on the scepter, tracking every move, every tiny twitch. “Drop this ridiculous façade! You fool no one.”

 

“And your sweet Sigrid, of course she will be taken care of as well,” Jerrik continues, smiling as he wards off another of Asmund’s spells. “I did what I had to, son, but now she is of no use! A happy thing, and yet your countenance shows no sign of relief.”

 

The outrage is clear in Asmund’s eyes, and Jerrik immediately looks for an opening in his guard. The boy seems to be done talking, his teeth bared in answer to his father’s statement.

 

Spells are not working. His father’s shield is too strong for anything magical to surpass, and the scepter itself seems to absorb whatever arcanas are thrown at it. And the damned thing, he must stay far from it. He has no way to get in close….

 

Therefore, Asmund decides to do something rash, something so brave it can only be called stupidity.

 

He runs straight for his father, towards his wide smile and unnatural blue eyes, hand outstretched towards the weapon. Jerrik swings the scepter up, slightly shocked at the fierce look upon his son’s face.

 

Asmund’s hand closes around the handle just as the glowing, bladed tip grazes his shoulder.

 

And in that moment, he loses all will, all individuality. But the momentum keeps him moving where his mind cannot, and his right hand continues on the course he had set it upon.

 

The blade sinks into Jerrik’s arm, the scepter flying out of his grip and across the rainbow bridge as he loses his footing. The two crash to the ground, Asmund sucking in a deep breath and hurriedly getting to his knees. His magic flares over his hands, the indicative golden glow exposing his spell.

 

Jerrik casts a ward, tries to counter as he pushes himself back, away from the angry glare of his son. Jerrik’s eyes land on the scepter, and his body seems almost physically drawn towards it.

He staggers up but feels Asmund’s fingers wrap around his ankle, the arcana encircling his hands lending him strength.

 

There’s a snap, loud and harsh, followed by a tortured scream.

 

Jerrik falls again, his right foot bent at an awkward angle. He feels a hard blow connect with his stomach, something sharp seemingly careening through his insides. This is advanced magic, dangerous and fatal. “ _Asmund_!”

 

Asmund rocks back onto his knees, pulling his hand away from Jerrik’s stomach. His eyes are hardened, his mouth pressed into a thin line. Jerrik peers up at him, his arm bleeding, broken ankle on fire, organs hemorrhaging. Blood is rising in his throat, and the iron taste frightening.

 

The sorcerer can think more clearly now, and the circumstances suddenly seem very… _grim_. He stops fighting, his strength fading quickly without the scepter, and chooses instead to meet the boy’s gaze.

 

Jerrik wets his lips. “Don’t,” he says softly. “I’m your father, Asmund. _Please_.” There’s a flicker of sorrow, of pain on his son’s face. “I love you,” Jerrik beseeches. “Do you not remember how I’ve told you so? You’re not a bad person, Asmund, you are not someone who would sink so low. You… you are a better man than I.”

 

The boy’s only reply is to raise his dagger and swiftly plunge it down, straight into his father’s heart.

 

Asmund looks away as the man dies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to dive into the aftermath, friends.  
> Jeezums, it's been a ride.  
> Prepare for a shit ton of Loki coming up, since this chapter was devoid of him lol  
> (Btw: This will be a little longer than OSE, but only by a few chapters if my outline is correct.)


	35. Autopilot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm guesstimating that there will be thirty eight chapters, friends!  
> Hope that's not too many!

Odin’s ravens, Huginn and Muninn, circle above the ruined city of Asgard. Their keen eyes easily pick out movement below, where remnants of the battle are fought.

 

They see the silvertongue’s sorcerers, fighting flames and men alike. They see families of civilians, wailing over lost loved ones, defending their homes, rushing for the palace. They see the rainbow bridge, bodies resting upon it and obscuring the light, creating dark blotches among the glorious colors.

 

They see the sun rise.

 

You’re not sure how long you’ve been sitting with Loki on the bridge, but you know the time for waiting is over. There are things that must be done, things you can do for the city.

 

You get to your feet, his grip on your shoulder steadying you. “I’m fine,” you say, shooting him a quick look of disapproval.

 

“Of course,” he agrees with heavy sarcasm.

 

But you keep your feet, and turn your gaze to Asmund. He has not moved, has not acknowledged either you or Loki this entire time. You look to Loki, who seems slightly interested but ultimately unconcerned. You’ve known him long enough to realize that this is a front.

 

The façade breaks when Loki’s green gaze flickers to the body in front of the boy. You don’t see the recognition, your back to him as you walk towards Asmund. You reach out a hand as you lean down, lightly touching the boy’s shoulder. “Hey, half-pint.”

 

Your words are soft, voice low and gentle. Loki’s jealous heart twinges at the tone. You do not speak this way for most people. Such softness is reserved for those you care about, the few you hold close. He knows the tone well.

 

“Warrior,” he says quietly, calling you back from the boy. “He needs time.”

 

You can see that Loki is correct. Asmund has not reacted to your touch nor your words. You give his shoulder a light squeeze. “We’ll be back.”

 

He does not seem to hear.

 

You walk away, your eyes searching Loki for answers. “Battle green, and never killed a man?” you guess in a whisper as the both of you begin to walk.

 

“That man was his father.”

 

You don’t reply, your face going blank.

 

“Sigrid?” you ask tightly.

 

“I sent your girl to the siege rooms,” Loki answers.

 

You feel yourself focusing, your mind choosing to run on the killer’s autopilot. You have no time to think, no energy to spare for emotions and thought. Not yet.

 

Loki looks over from the corner of his eye when your pace quickens. He intends to head for town, to spread word of Halvar’s defeat. The enemy troops will surely cease their battle when they hear of the king’s fall. He had imagined that you’d stay by his side, like most battles before, but now you’re running, flying down the rainbow bridge and towards the town. He knows you are exhausted, and yet you find it a necessity to carry on, the fool that you are.

 

You do not care whether Loki follows or not.

 

He does.

 

It is easy once you reach the city. You lose yourself in the streets of Asgard, fighting where it is necessary, helping where you can. The passage of time means nothing, minutes and hours slipping away from you as you work.

 

At times you are alone; pulling a woman up from the wreckage of her home, slicing a soldier’s neck before he can attack, mindlessly running towards cries for help.

 

But there are times you find yourself with company. You come upon a blazing building, flames unquenched, and you stretch out a hand, flexing your power to suppress the fire.

 

Your knees lock up at the exertion, your hands shaking. Cold fingers wrap around your forearm before you topple over. You meet Loki’s emerald eyes, which hold both a scolding and a warning.

 

And then he is gone again, vanishing from sight, seemingly nothing more than a phantom. He has work to do as well.

 

You go wherever your feet take you, not bothering with keeping track of where you’ve been. Your body hurts. You pass healers who are intent on helping you, but you wave them off.

 

“I’ve had worse,” you say dismissively without breaking stride. “Help the others who need it.”

 

And the look on your face is frightening enough that they do not argue.

 

The sun gradually rises higher in the sky, shedding light on all of the devastation. The houses and buildings are skeletons, razed to ash, the bare bones of their foundations exposed and blackened. The city feels hollow, its people lying dead in the streets. It reeks of blood, the scent never leaving you.

 

You soon discover that you find more corpses than living people in your rounds of the city. You do not know when the shadows began to elongate, where the seconds had skipped away to. Had you been inexperienced, it would have been hard for you to believe that time continued to march on.

 

But you are not inexperienced. And you know all too well that time does not stop to grieve.

 

Your feet move sluggishly now; your energy is truly at its end. You realize, as if in a dream, that Asgardians are slowly filling the streets once more. Those that made it to the palace must be returning.

 

You eventually round a corner and walk numbly into the main square. Quite a crowd has gathered, Thor and Odin in their center. The surprise at the Allfather’s presence barely registers in your mind; you simply accept the fact without so much as a blink.

 

 Odin is speaking, offering shelter for those that have none. His voice is hoarse, although he looks rejuvenated. Next to him, Thor seems pale, likely to fall over at any second.

 

“I also wish to thank our eastern allies for their assistance,” Odin continues, nodding his head towards his left. “Their aid was instrumental in our victory.”

 

“I will pass on this news to my father,” a voice answers, and you stare blankly at the speaker.

 

It is the girl – the one from Loki’s room. You wait for the anger to flash through your body, but instead you feel your exhaustion deepen. You cannot deal with this right now.

 

Odin bows his head, and the eastern soldiers turn and walk away, probably making for the stables. The girl and her little posse are grouped in their center, her dark eyes determined as she stares ahead.

 

Your feet feel rooted in place, and it’s hard to pay attention to the rest of Odin’s speech. You do, however, look up when you hear Loki’s voice as he presents Gungnir back to his father. His eyes are tight, although he keeps his expression pleasant enough. You are not fooled, and you doubt Odin is either.

 

You do not realize when the crowd clears. You remain in place, eyes staring ahead without seeing. You are lost in memories that make your reality feel very surreal. This is not the first broken city you have stood in.

 

You do notice when a shadow falls over you. You look up into the eye of Thor, who watches you with concern. His other socket has a fresh bandage over it, and someone has cleansed his face of the blood.

 

“It was an order, warrior,” he tells you gently, taking your hand and tugging. “My father insists.”

 

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, your gaze locked on the new, white bandage on his face. “Your eye.”

 

“None of that, now,” he answers, shaking his head.

 

He tugs once again on your hand, keeping you moving towards the palace. He seems too tired to say anything more.

 

You walk obediently after the god of thunder, his hand dropping to his side when he realizes you will follow willingly. You vaguely realize others walk with you; Sif and the Warriors Three. Everyone is too weary to talk, their feet dragging, eyes downcast.

 

Your footsteps cease when you see the rainbow bridge, and Thor glances back over his shoulder. “Warrior, Odin has ordered all of us to rest.”

 

“I’ve still got something to do,” you reply, shaking your head. “Then I’ll rest. I promise.”

 

Thor’s fatigue leaves no stubbornness to argue. He simply nods once, and then turns away, his friends following his lead. Hogun cannot even find the strength to glare at you as he passes.

 

You set out on your new path towards the glowing bridge. The walk seems to take an eternity, and also be over in a second.

 

The bridge hums beneath your feet, the sound almost muted in your ears. You can see the boy in the distance, and you’re relieved to note that he has finally moved.

 

He sits upon the edge of the bridge, his feet dangling over the side. He appears as if he is made of stone – an immaculate rendering of a living boy, but perfectly still. The only movement you note is caused by the wind; it ruffles his sorcerer’s robes and shaggy, brown hair.

 

He does not move when you sit near him, leaving a respectful space between the two of you.

 

And you say nothing.

 

You do not know how long you sit. Once more, time means nothing.

 

Loki – a mere prince once again – stands back behind the both of you. It had been natural to follow you when you turned from your walk to the palace, defected from the path on which his brother led you, and now he will wait. He makes no announcement of his presence, content to stand in silence.

 

It has been a long day.

 

The shadows are deep when Asmund finally speaks. “Patricide.”

 

The word is a whisper, carried to your ears by the wind. You continue to stare ahead, at a fixed point in the pink and red sky. You have no words to offer in return.

 

You can tell when the boy turns to look at you, although you do not move. It is your turn to be a statue.

 

His voice wavers now. “I could’ve let him live. I… I had a choice.”

 

You’re quiet for a moment. Your lips part, and you let out a slow breath. “I let someone live when I shouldn’t have… once. It’s not the same. I’m not saying that. This man was no relation of mine. But I didn’t kill him. I waited, they came and took him, locked him up. That was the end of that, I thought.”

 

You can feel him searching your face, although you don’t know what he’s looking for. Your hands clench into fists where they rest on your thighs. “He was strong. And patient. He broke out, of course. And he came after me, with a vengeance. I was so paranoid, I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t think. Always on guard, unable to function like a normal person. He was hunting me, and I was thinking like prey.” You can feel your muscles tighten at the memory, feel the scowl slowly twisting at your lips. “So, I decided, fuck that. And I hunted him down. Didn’t hesitate that second time.”

 

You turn towards Asmund now, the scowl fading quickly. His blue eyes burn into yours, as if he is anticipating your next question. And so, you ask it. “Do you think, if you let him live, that he ever would’ve stopped?”

 

You don’t bother going into specifics. You don’t have to. It doesn’t matter how general the inquiry is, he knows the answer already.

 

“No.”

 

“Then you did the right thing,” you tell him simply, although it is anything but simple. “That doesn’t mean it wasn’t hard. The hardest thing you’ll ever have to do, probably. But it’s done. Don’t let it haunt you.”

 

Asmund does not nod. He looks away, blue eyes locking onto a spot in the horizon. You get slowly to your feet, careful not to topple over the edge of the bridge. That’s all you have left. You’ve given your all. “Get some rest, half-pint.”

 

You’re met with no reply.

 

Your eyes find Loki’s once more as you turn. You have no words for him, either – not yet. It is strange to see him and be so empty, your mind and heart silent of his thoughts and feelings.

 

You almost break down and reach out for him as you walk by. You’re close. It would be easy to stretch forth a hand and touch him. His eyes are intense on yours, as if he has much to say, and not all of it is good.

 

But you say nothing.

 

You walk away.

 

\---

 

Loki stands silently, his thoughts flashing by without focusing. Many are painful, cause his stomach to pinch.

 

He is no longer king. That one stings the worst, but seems the most hollow at the same time. It does not feel real yet, the presentation of Gungnir to Odin remembered like an odd dream. He knows he will dwell on it later, for decades even, but for now he lets it fall silent in his mind.

 

Thor has returned, albeit short an eye. _You_ brought him. What would this mean? The future of Asgard is uncertain, many questions lingering without answers. This thought, too, he attempts to push aside.

 

He vaguely notes when the boy gets to his feet. Asmund refuses to stare at the bodies on the bridge, choosing instead to look at Loki. “Will you be casting me out, then?”

 

The words are dull, as if he does not care about the result. The prince looks at him dubiously, his thoughts millions of miles away. “What do you speak of?”

 

“The guild,” Asmund continues in the same, dead voice.

 

“Ah,” Loki answers. “You _did_ disobey me, didn’t you?”

 

“In a way,” Asmund agrees. “Master Hammond had us split. I was either to put out fires or combat sorcerers. He did not specify where.”

 

A shadow of a smile, but nothing more, flits across both of their faces.

 

“I’ll think about it,” Loki concedes, watching your half-pint carefully.

 

His blue eyes are that of a man, staring back at Loki from a boy’s face. The prince will not, _can_ not, expel him from the guild. Clever and driven, he is the very embodiment of those Loki seeks in his sorcerers.

 

“Thank you, sir. That’s all I can ask of you.”

 

The words are quiet, and Loki realizes the boy must have thought all was lost. But there are more important things to attend to. “Go home, boy,” Loki instructs. “As the warrior said, you need rest. If you or your girl require accommodations, seek Hammond or Toril at the guild.”

 

Asmund bows his head, eyes upon the glowing bridge. “Yes, sir.”

 

His legs begin to move, although Loki wonders whether he is aware of the fact at all. He walks as if a weight sits upon his shoulders, heavier than any pack or armor a warrior could bear. His feet knock against something quite solid, and Asmund pauses.

 

He stoops and grabs a hold of the golden scepter, the blue glow at the end as bright as the rainbow bridge when he touches it.

 

The boy turns to Loki. “What do I do with this?”

 

Loki rubs his jaw, exhaustion truly settling in his bones. “You won it. Keep it, as a reminder.”

 

The boy stares at the scepter, feels the weight of it in his hands. He is too distracted to listen carefully, to hear the beginnings of hushed hisses. He walks up to Loki, master of the guild, and holds the golden weapon out to him. “With all due respect, I don’t want a reminder, sir. Accept it as an apology, for my disobedience.”

 

Loki considers the offer, and then wraps his fingers around the intricate, golden weapon.

 

\---

 

You have no idea who drew the bath, but you’re thankful nonetheless. You haven’t been in your room for weeks, but everything is as clean and tidy as you’d last seen it. You wonder if Frigga had been asking her servants to keep it clean. You can’t be sure. And you don’t have the energy to care.

 

You sink below the warm, perfumed water, fully submerged save for your bent legs, on which chill bumps rise in the cool air. You hold your breath, and the underwater silence is loud in your ears. You wait until your lungs beg for oxygen, and then you rise until just your face breaks the surface.

 

You could fall asleep right here.

 

Instead, you begin your cleansing routine, washing off the grime, the blood. The water stings against your wounds, but you ignore it. Your arm throbs from where Trenchcoat had brought his foot down upon it. It’ll bruise, the dark colors probably lingering for a long while.

 

Blood is caked in your hair, matting it and making it hard to wash out. You scrub until your scalp burns, keeping your eyes closed so you don’t have to look at the water you’re laying in. It’s sure to be brown by now.

 

Eventually, you’re chilled, all warmth from the water vanished. The perfumed smell remains, although it’s now tainted with less pleasant scents.

 

It’s time to get out.

 

You dress for bed in clothes you’d half-forgotten Frigga had made for you. They are not your favorite – those you left in Loki’s chambers.

 

 _Foolish_ , you scold yourself, staring at your empty room.

 

You curl up in the center of the wide bed, not even bothering to slip under the covers before you fall asleep.

 

\---

 

You regain consciousness in a cold sweat, remnants of your dream flickering before your eyes. You sit up, eyes flying around the room to ensure no danger is present. You can tell it’s early in the morning, not even a hint of dawn showing from behind the curtains of your window.

 

Your nightmare has woken you, your mind grasping at what sleep you have gotten. It’s enough for functional thought, which is both good and bad.

 

You’re not quite ready to think. There’s too much to go over, too much unsettled in your head. And you’re still tired, much too tired to lay awake dwelling on things you cannot undo.

 

You’re just sleepy enough for it to feel like a second dream as you get to your feet.

 

Out of your door, down familiar halls, guards outside of his chambers, simply slip into the shadows and on into the sitting room.

 

This is the room where he kissed her.

 

Rather, where he didn't stop the kiss.

 

You’ve gotten enough rest to feel anger creeping up your throat at the memory. You let it fuel you, keeping your feet moving as you walk into the next room, his trophy room.

 

You know he’s gained new baubles, new weapons, but you do not stop to survey them. He’ll have heard you coming if he is awake. You have no doubts that he is.

 

You open his chamber door, something burning in your throat, and there he is, back propped against his headboard as if he was waiting for you to arrive.

 

He watches you warily from his bed, eyes glittering in the darkness. He says nothing as he bides his time, knowing you should be the one to break the silence, to do something other than stand rigidly in his doorway.

 

Are you here to fight? To argue, to shout at him? Will you cry, anger giving way to hurt? Perhaps you simply seek him out for the familiarity of it, for a way to ease your mind into unconsciousness. He does not know, and so he waits.

 

Loki’s eyes follow you as you step closer, still guarded and unsure. And then you slide under the covers, drawing close to him, your hands running across his chest and shoulders.

 

He holds you to him automatically, your actions catching him off guard, your warm lips pressed against his neck.

 

“I’m still mad at you,” you say angrily against his skin.

 

“Mhm,” he affirms, throat vibrating from the sound.

 

He hooks a hand underneath your left knee, pulling you closer, having you straddle him.

 

“We’re fighting after,” you continue seriously, running a hand through his hair and kissing his cheek, his temple.

 

He kisses your lips in response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all know what's coming 
> 
> Side note:  
> So, I've got a little shy of a hundred followers on Tumblr, OSE is at 267 kudos, and ODE has reached a whopping 382! And the comments. THE COMMENTS. You all give me life, and you're just consistently blowing my mind.  
> I was thinking about doing something to celebrate, but I'm not sure what. Should I take a certain number of writing requests, if you guys have any? Draw something? Do anything? Do nothing? I have no idea, but I'm really happy and want to do something to thank all of you lovely readers. Let me know what you think, because I'm happy to oblige! :]


	36. Whispers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BANGIN'  
> ARGUIN'  
> BANGIN'

Loki can tell that you’re angry with him, your teeth pulling on his bottom lip, your grip overly tight in his hair. You’re rough, unforgiving, and by the _stars_ does he love it. He’s missed you, and just the fact that you’re here with him is enough to be grateful for.

 

He tugs you closer still, your legs pressing wider around his hips. The sensation is delicious, the way your breath hitches an added bonus.

 

You can’t make yourself quit kissing him, his eagerness lighting a fire in the pit of your stomach. Your tongue parts his lips, and he meets it with his own. Your fingers roam across his chest, catching on faint scars, skimming over muscles, and you’re once more appreciative that he’d long ago started sleeping shirtless.

 

His long fingers tear at your clothing, hungrily searching for the bare skin beneath. His actions are urgent, as if he’s worried this will be his last chance to have you in this way.

 

Arguments have a way of toying with relationships, so he counts his slight apprehension a valid concern.

 

He strips your shirt from you, lavishing each piece of exposed skin with a touch, a kiss, or something a bit stronger, a bit rougher. His palms are cold against your back, but his tongue is warm as it dances over your chest. Your head falls back as he sucks a mark upon your breast, his fingertips pressing harder into your skin. You grip his shoulders and gasp when he bucks his hips up into yours.

 

“Clothes off. Now,” you state, the words an unmistakable order.

 

He’d normally chide you for this, but tonight he simply complies, lips hardly leaving your body as he works to fulfill your demand. You shed the rest of your garments easily, Loki’s hands immediately roaming to your waist, your hips.

 

He draws you down, pulls you to him until you’re once more seated on his lap. You hear his breath stutter when you slide against him, your body responding to him as it always does.

 

There’s no time for words, not now. You shift forward and then back, teasing him, watching as pleasure takes over his angled features. But you don’t want to make him beg, not for sex.

 

He’ll beg later.

 

The reminder of your anger with him, mixed with the little movements and gasps he produces, makes you to dig your nails into his back. You’re rewarded with his moan, the one that always creates heat between your legs. He grasps harder at your hips before quickly moving one of his hands to your groin.

 

Loki knows how to make you squirm, playing your body until you can’t help but rock your hips against his member.

 

“Ah, fuck,” you whimper, your teeth catching on his shoulder, his neck, his smooth collarbone as you lift your hips.

 

The hand that teases you moves at once to line his length up with your entrance, and your arousal makes it easy to lower yourself on him. You inhale sharply through your teeth at the sensation of him inside of you, your body welcoming him.

 

Loki groans, his breath rapidly speeding up as he instinctually begins to jerk his hips upward. You can’t keep your hands off of him, his alabaster skin, the muscles that jump in his abdomen when he moves. You match his rhythm, lowering down when he thrusts upwards, your bodies colliding lewdly over the sounds of gasps and moans.

 

He keeps a hand on your waist while his other seeks your breast, thumbing your nipple before painfully pinching it. He likes the throaty curse you throw out, the way your hand in his hair flexes helplessly as he pounds into you.

 

He’s always loved your little sounds.

 

Your legs tighten around him, your climax quickly approaching. He notices when your eyes start to flutter closed, and he pumps faster, fingers leaving your nipple and transitioning to your clit.

 

You’re not moving your body anymore, your muscles pulling tight and your breath coming in quick pants. You’re saying his name, fingers gripping his skin painfully tight as your orgasm takes you.

 

His hands are seemingly everywhere, moving quickly, his lip going hurriedly to your throat. He buries your name there, along with a few curses, relishing in the familiarity of _you_ as he feels his own pleasure mounting quickly.

 

His rapid pace makes your toes curl again, your first orgasm quickly transitioning to a smaller, second one. You can’t help but look at him, at his startlingly green eyes, his black hair that your hands have made chaotic. You’re close to his face, noses grazing against one another, close enough to kiss him, but you’re afraid you’ll hyperventilate without having your lips free.

 

His erratic movements and gasped expletives signal his release, and you feel him spend inside of you, the warmth sending you over again as well.

 

“Gods, yes,” you pant, forgetting your notions of hyperventilating as you passionately kiss Loki, his lips moving eagerly with yours.

 

His hands run across your body, as if he’s memorizing the feel of you. You let your fingertips glide over his back, soothing whatever marks you’ve left on him.

 

It’s when he slowly begins to move his hips again that you lift yourself off of him and lay down beside him. “No, no seducing me. We’re fighting now.”

 

He lays next to you, a hand lightly flicking at your nipples while the other seeks a lower target. “Are you certain?”

 

“Yes,” you say, albeit a little breathless. “Stop it, so I can get my thoughts together.”

 

Loki considers you before settling down and tugging you close to his side. “Very well. If you insist.”

 

He sounds as if he’d much rather you did _not_ insist. He pulls the bedsheets up, covering the both of you as you lay your head over on his shoulder. “Let’s just try to be calm and mature, okay?” you ask quietly. “I’m tired.”

 

“As am I,” he tells you, and the fatigue is very clear in his voice.

 

“I’ll just start at the beginning, then?” you ask softly.

 

He doesn’t answer for a moment, but then finally acquiesces. “Yes, alright. If you must.”

 

You’re quiet for a heartbeat, and then you sigh. “Letting Frost Giants into the palace? To postpone Thor’s coronation?”

 

“My temper got the best of me, I’ll admit.”

 

“That doesn’t make it go away,” you say, forcing a humorless laugh. “You threw a temper tantrum, and people died. Not okay.”

 

He cannot tell you that he does not care. “Yes, it was wrong of me.”

 

His hollow words do nothing to curb your agitation. “So, how am I supposed to know you won’t do something stupid like that again?” you ask.

 

“You cannot,” he answers honestly. “However, I hadn’t foreseen the outcome of such a radical action. I am… repentant of the fact that you became trapped upon Midgard. Especially for such a long period of time.”

 

He knows the answer does not satisfy you, he can tell by the way your body tenses next to his. His own irritation is spiking. “However, I gave you every opportunity to return to Asgard, and you did not take it. Staying behind with my _brother_ , and then when you _do_ return, you have him in tow.”

 

You force yourself to lie still, your teeth clenched as you exhale. “He’s different now. Fuck, Loki, he’s missing an _eye_ because of me. I should be the one half-blind.”

 

He’d expected your anger, not the burning guilt he hears in your voice. “Either way, my menace of a brother will become king. He’s no doubt plotting vengeance against those that attacked our kingdom yesterday.”

 

“You’d be surprised,” you mumbled heatedly. “Earth did something to him.”

 

Loki does not respond, his lips pressed into a thin line. He’s grateful to Thor for taking a savage wound in your place, but that does nothing to change the fact that his brother is a man-child warmonger.

 

The longer he remains silent, the more your frustration grows. Eventually, you have to speak, the tension too great for you to even think about being calm. “And the girl?”

 

The question is a whisper, full of quiet rage and hurt. With your head on his shoulder, he knows you cannot see the grimace that passes over his face. “I was told I had to marry, should my father not awaken within four months, as you are well aware. She was a candidate that my council had deemed a strategic match. They invited her to Asgard without my consent.”

 

“Cool, but they didn’t invite her to your room.”

 

If this was a different circumstance, he may have laughed. “No, she did that herself.”

 

“Here’s what I’m getting,” you say evenly, although there’s an underlying tone of utter seriousness in the words. “You’re pushing blame on everyone else.”

 

“ _She_ kissed _me_ ,” he growls immediately, glaring up at the bed’s canopy.

 

“And you didn’t stop it.”

 

Now your voice is cold, unwelcoming, your body frozen next to him. He says your name, exasperated. “What do you _want_ from me? An apology?”

 

“That would be nice,” you answer curtly. “But honestly? I just want you to admit you were in the wrong. That you shouldn’t have let her kiss you in the first place. Should’ve mentioned me, or something. I mean… I was supposed to marry you.”

 

“‘Was’?” he asks, his mind latching onto your use of the past tense.

 

You narrow your eyes, feeling your cheeks flush. “I mean…. I don’t know, Loki, what am I supposed to think? You ask me, say you… you love me, and then I come and see you and you’re smooching up some other girl.”

 

This time when he says your name, it’s quiet, soft. “You’d doubt my feelings for you?” Your reply is not in words, but the silence is enough. “Oh, you foolish woman.”

 

“Don’t,” you warn. “You’re about to make things much worse for yourself.”

 

“I was half a second away from telling her we could never be,” he tells you quietly. “She had hopes that we could be a true match, rather than one of political mutual benefit.”

 

“And?” you question.

 

His brows furrow. “And obviously, I would have to dash those hopes without angering the eastern kingdom.”

 

You lapse into silence once more, your mind running in circles around different trains of thought. His arm is tight around you, as if he’s worried you’ll rip yourself from his side and storm out of the room. Your anger has not vanished, but the feeling of betrayal shoves it aside.

 

It’s the hurt you feel that makes you ask, “And what did you think about it? The kiss?”

 

“It was… wrong,” he states, closing his eyes. “Different, yes, but it felt wrong.”

 

You both lay together for a while, and Loki briefly wonders if you’ve fallen asleep. However, you break the silence once more, your question hushed. “Have there been others?”

 

“Stars, no,” he replies, appalled and offended. “You really think that low of me, do you? That I’d humiliate you in such a way?”

 

His irate tone is loud in the quiet room, made louder still by the juxtaposition of your soft-spoken question.

 

“Calm down,” you say, scowling up at the bed canopy. “It’s a natural question to ask after seeing your significant other locking lips with a beautiful girl.”

 

He works to control his temper, knowing logically that you’re correct. “I’d not counted her as beautiful. You are certainly more glorious than she could ever hope to be.”

 

“Flattery isn’t going to save you in this conversation,” you scold him, although you can’t help but feel slightly more assured. “So, there’s no one else, and there’s not going to be anyone else?”

 

“Never,” he swears. He waits for your answer, but when you say nothing, he continues. “Yet you still remain unconvinced. How can I rectify this?”

 

“I’ve told you,” you state, voice hushed and tight. He gives no immediate response, and you sigh. “Yeah. I… yeah.”

 

The idea of admitting his fault, even if just to you within the darkness of his chambers, does not bode well with the proud prince. But as the air between the two of you remains wordless, he can almost feel you slipping away from him, severing connections one by one.

 

The imagined scene strikes him in the chest, the emptiness left behind making his tongue loose. “I’ve done you a disservice, love. I know all too well that I’ve made mistakes, many that have caused you ire or distress. But this transgression we speak of is something else entirely. I should never have let the woman in, never have entertained her conversation, should have cast her aside and thrown her out, damn the costs. But I did not, and I cannot change that. I can do nothing more than ask for your forgiveness and understanding, swearing oath that such dishonorable actions will never be repeated.”

 

He shifts, turning towards you now so that he can look at you. His gaze is as intense as you’ve ever seen it, something akin to panic in his green eyes. “Please,” he says helplessly.

 

You watch him for a moment, picking through his words in search of deceit. He seems sincere, as if he’s truly owning up to the fault, but even if they are a lie, you needed to hear them. You prop yourself up on your elbow. “Listen, Loke. When the going gets tough, relationship-wise, I usually just… leave. That’s just how it goes, and it’s how I’ve always operated. But… well, I’m still here. So, I guess that means I care about you, love you, more than I’d like. I can’t change that, even if I wanted to. But you could’ve just told me what was going on. Instead, you didn’t say shit. That’s not okay.”

 

“I can see how that has caused issues, yes,” Loki concedes.

 

“I mean, are we just ‘together’, or are we partners? You know… like equals. Because I’d rather be partners. In crime, in life, however you want to look at it.”

 

“Well, I suppose crime would be more entertaining with you by my side,” he says, lips curling upwards in a smirk.

 

You frown at him. “Not the time for joking.”

 

He hesitates, the smile fading. “Why do I still feel as if I’m losing you?”

 

You let out a huff of breath, looking away from him. “You’re… not. I’m just irritated and hurt.”

 

“I’m sorry. Truly.”

 

He lays back and pulls you slowly to him, your head resting on the cool skin of his chest. You allow it, feeling your body relax in his arms. It’s been a long time since you’ve been able to rest easy, to feel safe. Being upset doesn’t alter this fact.

 

Loki can tell you’re falling asleep, and he doesn’t mind at all. Your words twist at his heart, knowing that he is the cause of your pain. Such a little action, and yet it’s made a large impact. Still, you had said he wasn’t losing you, and he takes comfort in that fact. Your anger will burn out, and he’ll prove himself to you, given time. He plays with a strand of your hair, feeling your breathing even out. “Will I ever earn your forgiveness?”

 

He doesn’t expect an answer, but you give him one anyway. “Yeah. I’m not perfect, and neither are you. That’s why we work. Besides, it was just a kiss. It’s not like you fucked her.” His body shakes with hushed laughter, and you raise your head to look at him. “…. You didn’t fuck her, right?”

 

“No, my warrior, I did no such thing. You can rest easy as my one and only.”

 

You roll your eyes at the sentiment, your cheeks flushing. “Dumbass,” you grumble.

 

He closes his eyes as you shift, your face snuggled up against his neck. You’ve always been softer at night, with him. A trait the both of you have in common. Your breath hits his skin in even intervals, and he eventually drifts off to the sensation.

 

\---

 

Loki dreams about you, his mind conjuring a wicked scenario in which you have left him. He doesn’t realize he dreams, the emotions ripping through him as real as any.

 

And when he awakens and finds you in his bed, he is more than thankful.

 

Your back is to him, the thin sheet barely clinging to your shoulders. The room is lit with the morning, the curtains unable to stop all of the sun’s glow.

 

You wake with Loki’s hand sensually running up your side, around your front. He moves closer, pressing against your back, his morning hardness pushing against you. He plants kisses on your shoulders, up the side of your neck, just behind your jaw. He buries his face in your hair, his hand gently squeezing your chest.

 

You’re not quite awake, but your body reacts, your stomach fluttering at the slow, soft touches. His hand moves from your chest, slowly running down your side until he reaches your thigh.

 

When he pulls, you roll over to face him, lips already pressing to his. Still, his movements are gentle, meaningful, his lips moving with yours, warm tongue tenderly entering your mouth.

 

You’re not sure how you ended up on your back, whether he moved first or you did, but he eases between your legs as you let out a little gasp.

 

His thrusts are languid at first, the air punctuated by sounds rather than words. The fabric of the bedsheets shifting with movement, quiet gasps, muffled groans.

 

You feel the mental wall you’d erected between the two of you begin to crumble, falling into nothingness as your guard lowers. This man is yours, despite the many flaws that make up the both of you.

 

Loki internally embraces the renewed connection, inhaling sharply beside your ear as his slow pace becomes incrementally faster.

 

It’s enough. He pants as he finishes, a tremor running through his body. You feel your muscles start to tighten, and you’re suddenly whispering, begging him to not stop, to go faster, harder. Loki’s fingers twist in your hair as you grip his back, and you gasp urgently as your body arches upwards to meet his quickening pace.

 

And when you finally come undone in a flash of heat, he murmurs your name over and over, worshiping the sound of it on his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's only, like, two more chapters my dudes <3  
> Well, one and an epilogue  
> Jeezums, it's been a ride  
> (no pun intended, ha ha)


	37. A Short Respite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Playlist for this fic [here](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLBku3YltrlcG-CICZK-8QOdEFm4xJPjjY)!

“Our treasury has grown, our diplomats are appeased. And the people are… were quite content under your reign. You gave orders and solved problems like a true king. During the battle you sought out their leader, to cut the head off of the snake, so to say.”

 

“My head remains upon my shoulders, thank you very much, Father,” Loki quips from where he kneels at the foot of the throne.

 

Thor mirrors the other prince’s position, humbling himself before the Allfather. He shoots his brother a quick glance with a suppressed grin, but says nothing. Frigga stands beside her husband, thankful to see the both of her sons in the same room, upon the same _realm_ , once more. Though Thor’s bandaged eye makes her hands quake every time she looks at him. It was too far gone for even her to heal.

 

Odin’s gaze narrows as he stares at his youngest. “I would have thought you would realize that now is not the time for jests.”

 

“There is always time for jests,” Loki states, shrugging. “Besides, I’m waiting for the ‘but’.”

 

“I beg your pardon?” Odin asks, a white eyebrow rising on his forehead.

 

“You’ve given voice to several compliments about my time as king, and yet there will soon be a ‘but’, followed by your admonition. We both know it’s coming, and I’ve waited quite patiently.”

 

Odin meets his gaze for a long moment, bright blue eye appraising the man. He refuses to say the word, skipping straight to the referred admonition. “You dismissed most of my councilmen without cause, were unable to stop an army from breaching our city, our palace, and risked an alliance with our eastern allies by entertaining the idea of marriage with a foreigner.”

 

“Well, the last fault I still intend to commit,” Loki says nonchalantly.

 

“You would defy me?” Odin questions. “You know such a union cannot be. You are a prince, my son, and are to –”

 

“– to be married off for diplomatic purposes. To a chilly wench that _you_ deem worthy for _something_ like me?”

 

Frigga inhales sharply, catching the underlying pain in Loki’s tight reply. Odin stares down at him in angry silence, his temper quickly rising. “I forbid it.”

 

“Father –” Thor interjects, but Odin’s glare cuts off his words.

 

“Very well,” Loki answers casually, his visage falling apathetic.

 

The three others in the room look to the prince in unabashed surprise. “Very well?” Odin asks him incredulously.

 

“I’m sure her people have some sort of bonding ceremony similar to marriage. If I’ll not have her by our customs, I’ll simply comply to hers. It matters not. But I shan’t marry another under your law.”

 

Loki fleetingly wonders if Odin will smite him where he kneels. The king’s face has gone blank, his hands clenching on both Gungnir and the armrest of his throne. “Insolence!” Odin sputters.

 

“I will vouch for their union,” Thor states in a loud voice. He gets to his feet, boldly facing his father. “She’s a warrior with a quick mind, helbent on keeping her friends and allies safe. She swore oath to Asgard, and has kept that oath. You make use of her, so why treat her as if she is a disgraced foreigner, lowborn and unworthy? You think she has nothing to give, but has she not given us everything she has left? My brother cares for her, and I stand beside that.”

 

Odin turns to him, eyebrows furrowed. Loki glances over at Thor from the corner of his eye. Thor is playing a dangerous game, one that could assist or condemn.

 

“As will I.” Now, all eyes turn to the Allmother, who meets them with a steady, gray gaze. She clasps her hands behind her back, and sighs deeply. “I have my reservations, yes, but I tire of the contempt I see within my family.”

 

“I would speak with you privately,” Odin says heatedly to his queen, and she dips her head in consent.

 

Loki rises from the floor, and both he and Thor bow to the Allfather. They turn to leave, a pleased smile playing at Loki’s lips. Once outside of the grand throne room doors, the brothers continue to walk side by side.

 

“Mother knows you love your warrior,” Thor says. “She’s only ever wanted our happiness. I imagine you’ll get your way.”

 

“I imagine so,” Loki repeats. He walks a few paces, and then glances over at the other prince. “For what it’s worth, I owe you my gratitude. For both this, and your… lack of depth perception.”

 

Thor grimaces, the bandage on his left socket shifting. “I’ll get used to it.”

 

Their footsteps are loud in the marble halls of the palace, and they walk in silence for a stretch, passing tall, golden statues and white archways. They can hear the echoes of voices coming from the more traversed areas of the palace, and simultaneously they turn down a different path, away from the noise.

 

“You should get yourself an eyepatch, when it heals,” Loki comments. “Another one-eyed king. They’ll speculate you’re just a second coming of Odin himself, once the years pass.”

 

“Did the throne suit you, brother?”

 

The question surprises Loki. Was this meant as a barb? As an underhanded comment to prick at his pride? Loki’s jaw clenches, and he shoots Thor a dark look. “I would say so, although I’ve no idea why you’d ask.”

 

“Just curious,” Thor replies, shrugging.

 

This gives Loki pause. Thor seems nonconfrontational, as if he was truly just curious. “It kept me busy, I’ll tell you that,” Loki adds, a grudging longing in his tone. “But worth it, I’d say.” This time, his brother gives no answer, and Loki stares at the side of Thor’s face, studying him. “Why _do_ you ask? Tell me. I’m willing to bet it’s more than simple curiosity.”

 

Thor shakes his head, a small, sad smile lifting the corner of his lips. “I’ve just been dwelling on…. Thinking. I’ve just been thinking.”

 

Loki squints at Thor, head cocked to the side and forehead wrinkled. He remembers your words, and repeats them now. “Midgard changed you, brother.”

 

Thor’s only reply is another sad smile.

 

\---

 

Desolation. That’s how Sigrid would describe what she sees around her. It’s been a week now, and still there’s so much to rebuild, so much to repair. But it’s more than that. The city itself is broken; its people. Asgard is no longer an impenetrable nation, an unstoppable force. It has been a long time since the heart of the city has been attacked, let alone suffered such large destruction.

 

Rising from ash is never an easy process.

 

Families grieve their dead, from lost loves to young children. Remnants of cinders still speckle the city, unable to be wholly washed or brushed away; somehow, there’s always more. Winter’s chill bites harder than ever with no structures to hold it back. The nights especially are hard, the days bleak. It’s too much for Asgard’s people, with losses so great.

 

The only thing that Sigrid recovered from the fire that destroyed her home was her dagger. The dark blade was a gift from you, and it alone remained unburnt. To her dismay, its sheath (a present from Asmund) had been destroyed, although the young sorcerer had assured her he would craft another.

 

Sigrid catches sight of you every day. You’re always out in the streets, using your abilities to assist however you can. She knows such actions are not your forte, but you seem desperate. She wonders why, but does not ask.

 

Sigrid had approached you only once, and you’d immediately wrapped her in a hug. She hadn’t said anything, and neither had you. Then, with a final squeeze, she released you so that you could go and finish what you’d started.

 

She thinks of this now, as she spots you walking by. A woman whose eyes do not see what’s before her. It’s frightening for her to witness you in such a way.

 

She fears for your wellbeing.

 

\---

 

You’re not sure when you decided to go. It could have been when you were answering Will’s notebook messages. Perhaps it was out in Asgard’s streets, as you tried to make yourself useful. Or maybe it was when you blinked and suddenly saw yourself in a different city, years ago, destroying instead of repairing.

 

Just like you always do. You break things down, not build them up. Your powers are meant to wreak havoc.

 

Out of place. That’s when you decided to go, you think. When you realized how out of place you were.

 

He knows. He senses it, as he’s connected to you once more. You’re standing in what used to be an alleyway, hands repeatedly clenching and unclenching, when you look up and see him.

 

“Loki,” you say, choking out his name as if you cannot breathe.

 

“Go,” he tells you, eyes burning with worry as he steps forward. “Go, and come back.”

 

“I will,” you answer, and then at once, the shadows take you.

 

Loki stands still, staring at the spot you had been moments before, an empty feeling in his chest.

 

\---

 

You step out into an apartment, and immediately there’s a surprised little yelp followed by your name.

 

“Hey, Will,” you say weakly, attempting a half-smile as your friend springs up from the couch and wraps her arms around you. “Sorry to, uh, drop in.”

 

“It’s so good to see you!” she chimes.

 

You chuckle awkwardly, doing your best to relax and hug her back. Just being here, next to someone of your own kind… she’s pulling you back from your self-made destruction; you already feel calmer in the familiarity of her presence.

 

Willow backs up a few paces and looks you over. “You’re always welcome here. I’m just glad you’re in one piece.”

 

“Eh, got a little scraped up, but nothing I couldn’t handle,” you respond, staring around the room in search of a distraction. Art supplies are scattered across the table, half-finished artworks and completed sketches set out to the side. _Will doesn’t normally draw._ “So, where’s this ‘captain’ of yours? Not fair that Loki got to meet him and I didn’t.”

 

Will snorts. “Said he ‘met’ him, did he?”

 

You think back to a few nights ago, to the brief conversation between you and Loki about your friend and her new companion. “I take it his phrasing was… a little under exaggerated?”

 

“Something like that,” Will answers, glowering out at one of the apartment’s windows. “No, Steve’s out for the weekend. It’s actually nice to have you here.”

 

And then you find yourself lapsing into conversation, forgetting your stress if only for a moment. You sit with your friend in the apartment living room and catch up, feigning normality.

 

It feels good.

 

\---

 

 “So… humans wrote books about magic, and wizards, and spells… and there’s four _houses_ … and you think Loki and I would be in the same… ‘house’?”

 

“It’s like a test, a placement sort of thing,” Will continues to explain, bouncing along beside you as the two of you walk.

 

New York is big. You’ve been in busier cities, but this one is truly large. And the people… there’s people everywhere. It makes you nervous, but being with Will keeps you calm, helps you to think clearly. They’re just humans, after all.

 

Spending the weekend with your best friend has made you feel almost yourself again. You’re no longer pacing empty streets of a different city in your mind. You’re… better. Settled in reality rather than memories.

 

It’s been fun touring the city with Will as your guide. She’s shown you all of her favorite spots, taken you to several unique dining facilities. You love the sky scrapers; they remind you of the buildings on your home world. You hadn’t spent a long time on Earth during your first trip, and the second had you trapped in a small desert town. You certainly hadn’t had _fun_ on previous visits. New York felt like an entirely different planet.

 

You were surprised when you found out that the people of Earth know your friend. And that they know some of what she can do, power-wise. They gave her a name of their own choosing, one of light and liberty. It makes you nervous, but you hide it. Will knows as well as you do that people are untrustworthy and cruel. However, you’ve always been the one to dwell on the fact, while she remains optimistic.

 

You linger longer at the apartment than you originally intended. It’s later in the night when you sigh and get to your feet. Willow looks over, and the following silence is loud.

 

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” she asks quietly.

 

“And you’re staying,” you say in the same, reserved tone.

 

“Are you upset?”

 

“Of course not, dummy,” you tease. The smile on your face wavers a bit. “I mean, it was nice to spend a long amount of time together in the same place for once. But we know where to find one another. And it’s not like we’re _galaxies_ away.”

 

“No, not this time. _Just_ a whole different dimensional space.” Willow shoots you a small grin. She stares at you for a heartbeat, and then asks, “Are you… okay? To go back, I mean.”

 

Ah. It’s not a surprise to you that she knows. Will is your oldest friend, and she knows your heart better than you do at times. “I’m alright now,” you say quietly. “I got a little overwhelmed. Destroyed city, everyone working so hard to fix what’s broken…. It’s all just… really… familiar.”

 

“Do you need me there?” she asks. “I would have come, but –”

 

“No, no,” you quickly state, waving a hand in dismissal. “It’s all under control. Plus, sounds like you’ve been busy down here, anyway.”

 

“I have,” she answers, nodding. “But I’ll always have time for you, if you need me.”

 

“Thanks, Will,” you say, giving her a sincere smile. “It’s been great seeing you. Thanks for letting me hang for a while.”

 

“Come back anytime,” Willow answers, walking up and embracing you. “And tell your bastard prince I said ‘hey’.”

 

You chuckle as you give her a one-armed hug back. “Sure thing, Lady Light.”

 

\---

 

When you step out of the darkness and into Loki’s chambers, you’re surprised to find him awake in his sitting room. He lays across his settee with a book in his hands. He looks up, emerald gaze appraising you as he sets the novel aside and swings his legs around so that he’s sitting up.

 

“Hey,” you say, clearing your throat.

 

“Welcome back,” he tells you smoothly.

 

You cross the floor in a few strides and sink next to him on the settee. You lean your head over on his shoulder, and he wraps an arm around you.

 

“Are you well?” he asks.

 

Loki’s done his best to let you be these past few days, to not pry within your thoughts. It’s been taxing, and he’s worried. He has to know.

 

“I am,” you tell him, and he relaxes at the truth of it. You take one of his pale hands in your own. “It’s hard, sometimes. With certain things. I fall back into how I was, instead of who I am now.”

 

“I know, love,” he says, and then turns to kiss the top of your head.

 

“Thanks,” you say quietly, shifting closer to him.

 

You wait a long time, wondering if he will speak. But for now, Loki seems content to sit with you in silence. It’s you who breaks it, your voice timid and unsure. “So… Odin being awake, huh? How does that…. What does that mean? For us?”

 

You haven’t had the courage to ask, not with everything else going on in your head. A calmer state of mind was necessary to have this discussion, whatever the outcome.

 

“As I’ve recently found out… it means nothing,” Loki states, and you can hear the playful smirk in his voice. “Considering you’ll still have me, of course.”

 

“He’d… let that happen?” you ask, not bothering to hide your shock as you lift your head from his shoulder.

 

He surprises you with a kiss, his cool lips pressing briefly against yours. “I said you were mine while you lived, did I not? And I asked for your hand, did I not?”

 

“You did, yeah,” you say, glaring as your cheeks redden with embarrassment.

 

He chuckles at you, at the familiar look upon your face. He shrugs, the sly grin fading. “It won’t be easy. Not for us. But the best things in life never come easy, I hear.”

 

“That’s fine. I like a challenge,” you tell him, snuggling closer to his side and returning your head to his shoulder.

 

And he smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important announcement!
> 
> So, if you wish for your "Of Different Emotions" journey to end, I recommend to stop reading at this chapter. I'll be posting a short epilogue, probably in a few days, and it will lead into the third part of this series. Yes, I did say third part lol. A few of you have been asking about it, so I'll go ahead and stick this into the notes as well.
> 
> I originally planned for this to be a three part series, but I wasn't going to continue posting if the series was too long or people had no interest. But, seeing as there's still those who want to know what happens when Loki and Reader meet the Avengers, I suppose I'll just have to keep writing. :)
> 
> Once more, I want to say, from the bottom of my heart, thank you. THANK YOU. Thanks for all the kudos, comments, bookmarks, and encouragements. I never imagined my self-indulgent reader insert fanfiction story would be read by so many amazing people. My heart always skips a beat when I see I've got a message in my inbox, and I'm just so overwhelmed and appreciative. It's also late, and I get sappy when it's late lol
> 
> SO. If you're buckled up and ready for me to fuck up the canon of the Avengers movie, get ready for the epilogue!
> 
> Lots of love,  
> \- W


	38. Harbinger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harbinger - An Epilogue
> 
> I waaaarned you.  
> This is why "Giant" by Matrimony is the last song on the playlist for ODE.

Time is a funny thing. It drags certain moments on for ages, making seconds seem as long as hours. It chooses other moments to appear fleeting, to rush by in a single breath. Regardless, the passing of time never holds much meaning to you. Four months come and go, and leave you just the same. But now, with the wedding a short two months away, you’re starting to pay attention.

 

You find the plans for the grand ceremony almost humorous; your people don’t have such affairs for two who wish to bond. There is nothing to it – it simply happens over time.

 

But this, this is apparently a big ordeal upon Asgard.

 

The specifications and conditions to be met are dizzying. Luckily, you have no preference in regards to the event, so long as the outcome remains the same. You wonder how a normal Asgardian girl survives such a chaotic mess.

 

The ceremony itself must happen on a Friday, you are told. In the late summer, outside of the palace walls. You’re supposed to present Loki with “the sword of your family”. And Loki is to give you a sword as well, which you find quite amusing. The following celebration will be a week-long affair, full of feasting and drinking. You are expected to share honeyed mead with Loki, and you imagine that you’ll welcome any kind of alcohol at that point in the ongoings.

 

You are stunned that the person delivering this information to you over the months is Queen Frigga. The woman was never hostile towards you, and always friendly, but you have no misconceptions on where she stands upon your union with her son. She remains reluctant, but puts his wishes first. Such a thing is not normal to do in Asgard’s society, but then again, Frigga is anything but _normal_.

 

The event as a whole, the enormous ceremony that surrounds it, starts creating nerves that twist and pinch at your stomach. It’s too _official_ , too _much_. To be bound by laws, in a ceremony that has nothing to do with your own customs… the thought is daunting.

 

But each train of thought concludes with the same resounding decision: _I’ll do it for him._

 

You hate thinking it, but you know it’s true. You didn’t think you had the capacity to care for someone as you do the Prince of Wickedness, but here you are, lying in his bed with his pale arm around your waist.

 

And you’re happy.

 

\---

 

You notice when Loki’s dreams slowly become more and more restless. The emotional link between the two of you lets you feel the discontent and confusion. But when you ask him what is wrong, or what he dreamt of, he has no answer.

 

Then you begin to catch him leaving the bed in the dead of night. Each time, you call his name as his long fingers close around the doorknob of his bedchamber, and he seems to awaken. You notice, though, that he’s never confused as to of why he’s on his feet, never asks what’s going on or what he’s doing. He’s… oddly aware.

 

It is a short week before the wedding when you wake to find the bed empty. You sit up, your eyes immediately going to the doorway.

 

It’s open.

 

You rise from the bed, slipping a robe over your bare shoulders. The smooth fabric shifts against your skin as you cinch the robe tight and silently make your way to the door. You can see a blue glow coming from the next room – Loki’s trinket room.

 

You step over the threshold and sleepily rub your eyes as you stare towards your betrothed. He stands in his princely attire, war-helm upon his head, although you have no memory of him dressing. Within his hands is the golden scepter, the one he’d gained from Asmund. You watch him, questions on your tongue, although none pass your teeth.

 

It’s the way he’s looking at you that keeps you silent – his green gaze is distraught, his grip tightening around the glowing weapon.

 

“It whispers to me,” Loki tells you softly, eyes beseeching you to understand. “In my own voice.”

 

You say nothing. Your heart is picking up speed, the hairs on the back of your neck prickling. You feel naked, no armor between you and the scepter in Loki’s hands.

 

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” he continues, eyes still locked onto your own. “You knew something was wrong, but there’s nothing to be done. I have no explanation. This is simply something I must do; that I _want_ to do.”

 

“You’re scaring me.” The words are shaky, betraying your uncertainty.

 

It’s as if he hasn’t heard you. He turns away, staring at the scepter. “My mind must be stronger. In a different state, they say. They’ll see to it. It’ll be painful, but I can manage. And then… well, then I’ll have it all. They’ve shown me a brilliant plan.”

 

“Loki, what the hell are you talking about?” you ask, your fear and lack of understanding culminating in anger.

 

“The future,” he tells you simply, eyes cutting back to you. “Something much bigger than the Nine Realms, than who is king and who is not. I’ve been chosen.” Now, his voice is full of pain, his next sentence a hushed whisper. “And I must go.”

 

There’s a flash of blue, and then all is dark once more. You stand alone in a room of empty treasures, your heart pounding as your eyes adjust to the dim light. Your throat is tight, your breathing rapid. _This doesn’t make any sense._ You continue to look for him, although you know he’s gone.

 

The connection between the two of you has gone dead.

 

Absolutely dead.

 

You’re panicking, your eyes wide as your fists begin to tremble. Nothing makes _sense_.

 

And then you’re racing out of the room, your muscles straining to push your legs faster and faster, your higher thinking and logical reasoning cut off as you fling open the door to the hall and sprint as quickly as you can. You make for the room of the first person you can think of, someone close, someone who will care about what’s happened.

 

Loki is gone.

 

The words, they don’t make _sense_ , nothing makes sense. You tear down the halls of the palace, the balls of your bare feet numb against the cold marble. You’re not exactly sure where you’re going, you’ve not been to his room, but a surprised servant nervously points you in the right direction.

 

You know in your heart that it won’t matter, that nothing will undo what’s been done, but damn it all if you won’t try. The door is in sight. You can hear someone shouting, and it takes a moment before you realize that it’s your own voice.

 

You scream for the god of thunder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, it feels so odd to click the "complete" button for ODE. But I'm really excited for the next installment in our dear Reader's adventure. <3
> 
> I'll go on a short hiatus for the "Emotions" series, so that I can get my plot all fleshed out and get ahead on writing. If you see me working on other little things or another series, don't worry! I need to take a breather and write on some other stuff so I don't get burnt out on this main series. I hope that's understandable!
> 
> Thanks to all my commenters and supporters. This story would never have gotten as far as it has without all of you.
> 
> I'm totally open for little one shots or other requests from any of you, regarding these characters and scenarios or any others that I know of. This is, once again, so I don't get burnt out, and will give me room to relax and not feel pressured about writing. :) I'll be working on OTE in the background, I promise!
> 
> "Of Twisted Emotions" is coming, friends! I'll see you then. <3

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr [here](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/wanderingworldwarrior)!  
> Consider joining my [Discord](https://discord.gg/AbBAEY5)!


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